Distort
by sych77
Summary: Claire woke up, feeling at her worst. She'd hoped it was simply a hangover, but its turning out to be something more sinister. Is she crazy? Signs point to yes! C12: finally, an explanation!
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note:** it's been aaaaaages since I've written anything. Several months, I think. I have an unfinished RE story, Inescapable, that will be finished as soon as I like the next chapter I've written for it (sorry to those who wanted prompt updates). And sorry for disappearing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Resident Evil or any of the characters.

"Feeling better?"

At the sound of that familiar deep voice, Claire lifted her head, looked into her brother's worried face and nodded slowly before she buried her face into the warmth of the woolen jersey he'd wrapped around her. She tried to ignore the strong smell of vomit and blood that swept through her at the same time as the memories did.

"Fine... yeah, fine..." she looked groggily around the cluttered apartment. "Where are we? How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours.."

"Hours?" Claire repeated. Her brow furrowed. There was something about time... what was it? It was.. it was...

"You're safe here," Chris assured her, cutting through her dazed concentration. "You hit your head really hard before. I didn't want to move you much, so... You'll be safe here for the time being. Stay and get some strength. I'll be back soon. Maybe with some food."

"Where are you going?" Claire leaned forward, threatening to get off the thread-bare green couch. She protested, "I'll come too - I am not _weak_..."

"Of course you're not," he said, unusually bitter. Looking him directly in the face made Claire feel dizzy, but she thought he had dirt on his forehead. He looked at her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes for a few seconds before sweeping out of her line of sight abruptly. "Get some more sleep. You need to heal as much as you can."

Claire heard the lock click loudly, and stared vacantly at the spot where her brother's face had been before. Her own head fell heavily against the couch arm, causing a sudden jolt of pain that made her feel weak and shivery again. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. What had happened? She couldn't think with the dizzy grey cloud her brain had become.

"He's right," she muttered to the assortment of belongings. "I need to sleep..."

She wondered idly whose apartment this was. Probably Carlos', judging by the stacks of dirty dishes. Carlos had a knack for avoiding cleaning plates. He wasn't here though... maybe he was still at work? What time was it, anyway?

Time. There it was again. That feeling that she shouldn't be lying around. That time was ticking by quickly and she needed to use every second.

The foul combination of blood and vomit proved overpowering. This and the unsettlement of her mind meant sleep was far awy from Claire. She forced herself to her feet, tottering unsteadily on the crowded ground.

"If no sleep, something to refresh me... a shower... Carlos won't mind..."

The bathroom seemed far away, even though it was only about 6 feet. The door was a mirage that teased and taunted like a fickle mistress as Claire stumbled towards it on carpet that rose and fell underneath her like waves.

"I will not fall," she muttered fiercely. "I will not... I won't..."

When she did get to the bathroom, and gratefully seized the ceramic sink, her knees were shaking with strain. She felt like she was recovering from a great bought of flu. Eagerly, she turned the taps on the bath, no longer feeling up to reaching the shower head, let alone standing under it. After an initial spurt of water, the taps were sullenly motionless.

"No water?" she asked dumbly. Her forehead rested gently against the cool white surface of the cupboards under the sink. Part of her was unsurprised.

Fingers grabbed at the edge of the sink and pulled her weight. Claire stared at the pale face in the grimy mirror. Her dark hair was nearly completely out of its ponytail, and small bits of leaves were in it, like she had been climbing trees. She had a cut diagonally over her nose, still fresh. And the source of her sickness was evident; over her left eye was a large, purple, oozing bruise.

She looked like a refugee with her battle scars and a stretched green woolen jersey wrapped around her in a style reminiscent of early Roman toga crossed with bath-towel. She could just the belt loops of a pair of black pants in the mirror.

A grudging memory finally began to bring its apprehensive carrier up to speed. A scene flashed through - a boat, sea foam flying, and then running through paved city streets, pulse booming wildly, legs shaking with exhuastion. A creature... like a Tyrant... like a... a... something. Big fist. Hard punch.

Her blue eyes narrowed at her mirror image. Six years of running and she was still right back where she'd started. With white fingers that move slowly but didn't shake, she pulled the baggy green jersey off from around her and let it drop to the floor.

Time...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: **_Regular, prompt updates are not my forte. My apologies. And to make it worse, this is just a quick update to see if anyone's still interested. If there are reviews, updates will continue. If not, thanks for everything so far guys. I'm just a bum lol.

* * *

_

It had taken all her remaining strength to stagger into the bedroom and keel over onto a half-made double bed. Whoever owned this flat was a slob. 'Definitely male,' she thought, wrinkling her nose halfheartedly as she thought of how long ago the flat was probably cleaned. 'Not that I'm a much better housekeeper.'

Claire stayed like that for a while, listening to her quickened pulse beating at her collarbone, catching the smell of the dirty flat with every intake of air. She remembered the thread-bare couch, the old sink in the bathroom... this flat clearly did not belong to someone with a lot of money.

'Get up... get moving...'

But it was so much easier to stay where she was, unmoving. Sleep. Recover. Like Chris had advised her to. There was no strength left in her, just a lethargic desire to waste away on the smooth side of a stranger's bed.

And like that she would have stayed, if it had not been for the sudden crash and tinkling of glass that alerted her she was not alone.

Her eyes flew open, vision obscured by the maroon sheets. The bedding bunched against her right side, where a waking sleeper had irritably thrown them off himself in the morning. Quietly, she put her right hand on the wad of sheets and pushed herself up in one fluid movement. She was rewarded with dark vision, like black static was interfering with the message her eyes were delivering to her brain. It lasted for over ten terrifying seconds, and when it cleared her skin was tingling and she felt shaky again.

_Over exertion? Damnit I'm getting old already..._

Claire stayed, sitting twisted round, on the bed for a long time. There were no more sounds from the main room of the apartment, and she caught herself wondering if it had been part of a dream. 'Bullshit,' she told herself with a quickly quelled spark of fear, 'windows don't just break themselves.' Something was out there in the lounge, something that wanted to kill her…

And which probably would, seeing as she could hardly stand without falling over.

Trying not to rustle the bedsheets, Claire sent her blue-eyed gaze darting frantically over the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. The bedroom door moved, and she knew she had run out of time.

A long, black nose snaked through the small gap she had left between door and door-jamb, moving as slowly as all the imaginary monsters that had haunted Claire's early days. Then the rest of the head appeared.

Claire had been expecting the half-rotted face of a dog to show through that gap, but was faced with something worse. It reminded her, absurdly, of Templeton, the rat from _Charlotte's Web_, only it was much bigger. The creature did indeed look like a rat, with a pointed face, sharp small teeth and elephantine ears. It had deep set eyes, with long, shaggy brows above them. Their fathomless black caught sight of her.

For a while they stared at each other, then the rat lunged. With no other weapon, Claire reached to the nearby bed-side table, grabbed the cheap plastic table lamp and threw it with all her might at the thing in front of her. The lamp's plug wrenched from the socket, and it went flying across the room with the cord following behind like a bridal train.

She heard it make impact, but didn't wait to see her handiwork. On jelly-legs, she half-wobbled, half-ran out of the bedroom, slammed the door shut and ran to the exit of the apartment. She pulled and pushed alternatively on the handle, trying to get it to open, remembering only too late that her brother had locked it before leaving. She tried to turn the small locking mechanism set in the handle, but her fingers were clumsy with a gripping fear she thought she'd forgotten long ago.

Shuddering crashes came from the bedroom door as the rat threw itself against the old wood. As the door came free and the angry creature burst into the lounge, Claire's fingers found their old strength, quickly twisted the lock and handle and then turning the lock-switch back as she dashed past the door and slammed it shut.

Just in time.

Shaking, she stepped backwards away from the door. Renewed thumps sounded as the rat began a new assault.

"Jesus," she murmured quietly. She paused to gather her strength, apprehensively watching the door rattle on its hinges. She couldn't stay here. She would have to run, flee, dash, hide.

Find Chris.

Get the Hell out of here.

"I knew I hated Charlotte's web," muttered Claire. Her legs wobbled under her, partly with fatigue and partly with apprehension, as she made her way cautiously to the exit sign.

* * *

**AUTHOR NOTE: **_a big shout out to:_

_Vanerek Garland_

_Synch14_

_Sci-Fi-Reader_

_Zarbok_

_Frosta (yes, it is supposed to be post CV)_

_Nicky Carter Wesker (thanks for reminding me fanfiction existed!)_

_ Shakahnna (thanks for reminding me too! You're a goddess)_

_**I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU ARE TEH AWESOMEST. **Here, have a cookie  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:_ somehow it would seem this poor student doesn't own a game sold worldwide which was made by a group of talented individuals in Japan and America_. _Who'da thunk it?_

_ THANKS GUYS, for the quick responses! To reward you, I sat down and wrote another chapter. Pretty good for me, huh? If you're lucky, you can get another before uni starts on monday. Word. Pretty exciting, hey? I lovesya all._

_Zarbok - hehehe yay you're still here! (and yes, something strange is happening with Claire. Cue in atmosphere music. Du de dooo dun dun dun dun)_

**The Long Awaited Chapter 3**

From the outside, the apartment complex looked like a deserted, decrepit building. Some windows were completely missing glass, and most of the others were partly broken or badly cracked. The building was grey, but without the graffiti normally associated with derelicts.

From a back door that hung on one rusted hinge, Claire came outside. The town, it was grey too... grey, silent, deserted... a ghost town. Even more so than Raccoon City had been. Even the trees and grass were dying.

Except for one large puddle on the ground in the middle of the road, which was a deep red.

"Chris," Claire breathed, and moved unsteadily over to it. It was obviously blood, - only blood looked like that, had that bleak shine, that metallic tang poisoning the air... Claire knelt down besides it slowly, cradling the painful bruise that spread over her left eye and temple in one hand.

There were no footprints, no scattered droplets... just a perfect pool.

_How could that happen? It's not possible... unless... _

She had a horrifically graphic vision of something like a Tyrant, something like Nemesis, something big and powerful holding a person in their air by their ankles... brutish eyes watching the pitiable struggles emotionlessly, and then twisting the person's head in a way that opened up the neck, and watching the blood trickle gently into one puddle, as if to see how much blood it could wring out…

_No,_ Claire thought hurriedly, _that would create blood spatters, right? _But unbidden, the nightmarish rat resurfaced in her memory. _A B.O.W. One of the monsters. Anything could be possible. But still... where would the body be? _

"I don't need this," she muttered. She stood, putting her hands on her knees to help steady her, and took three deep calming breaths. "I need food, that's all."

Her face crinkled in disgust as she breathed in the stale smell of vomit and blood. _That's right, I never did get round to having that shower. Or changing my clothes._ She gazed dispiritedly down the grey street, looking forward a 7-11 or supermarket. Anything. But all she could see were dilapidated apartment buildings.

Slowly, clutching at anything that offered support, Claire walked past the disturbingly neat pool of blood and down the empty streets. She soon felt nauseas again, but if it was from the exertion, the blood-puddle or something else altogether she couldn't tell. Grabbing the edge of a grimy rubbish bin, she emptied the scant contents of her stomach onto the long neglected garbage.

_Charming, _she thought, spitting bile.

It was as she was straightening up and feeling a bit sorry for herself that glimpsed the first bit of colour in the town other than the blood. Sadly, this too was dark red. But this, this was a red shirt. Claire looked up so quickly she cricked her neck.

_Chris?_

Ignoring the sudden ache, she saw that the figure was male, and he was standing the shadows, looking at something in his hand (presumably), with his back to her. Claire heard the vague mumble of his voice as if he were reading something under his breath. She couldn't identify him, couldn't even see the colour of his hair, but immediately Claire knew it wasn't her brother. He only wore shirts if he had to, and even then he had to be hounded to tuck it in…

"Hey!" she called, pushing off from the trash can and hurrying towards him as fast as she could. "Hey!"

The man started to turn towards her, startled, but before she could see his face, the world went dark.

_Dark..._

_Time... time's running... out..._

_Gotta find Chris..._

_Chris… what if he goes back to the apartment? Opens the door, trying to find me… finds the rat… nowhere to run... rat..._

_Gotta get up…_

_Get up…_

_Get up!_

Claire's eyes flew open, and she found that she was lying on her side by the rubbish bin, nothing but the hard pavement below her. She propped herself up on one elbow, trying to see the man she'd called out to.

No one was there.

_Damn. The bastard left me here?_

"Ugh," she moaned, her head hurting and the potent smell from the rubbish assaulting her senses. Getting to her feet, Claire began back towards the apartment building. She intended to leave a note of warning on the door for Chris, telling him she'd gone and suggesting a meeting place.

_St. Augustine's Church. Hard to sneak up on, easy to defend. Perfect place to lie low if we have to wait._

"Huh," a small smile spread over her face, "I guess I do remember this place a little..."

It was just as Claire was at the door to the building, thinking about where to find pen and paper, that she realized something. The puddle of blood had gone... She turned slowly towards where it had been on road. Nothing. Just plain, unmarred concrete.

Claire stared at the place where it had been for a while, feeling unnerved. Then she turned back, and went into the building.

_Something strange is happening here..._

_

* * *

_

_**Next time **on a very special episode of 'Distort'..._

_ Umm... I haven't actually got that far yet. WATCH THIS SPACE. _

_(Click on the purple button below to feed the plot bunnies. For just one review per chapter, you can feed one plot bunny for the duration of an entire story. Start making the world a better place, today.) _


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** don't own it, sadly doubt I ever will

Yes, I know, this is so late the story has technically been aborted. But I have written the entire thing now. It's not really very long, in terms of chapters, but in pages it is. Still, there will be slight delays (e.g. a few days) between updates as I have a life - shocking as that may be - and my work needs editing.

That being said, I will finish posting this story even if no one is reading it

((but if you are, I love you, and please review))

* * *

She'd scrawled a quick message on the door, with a vividly red lipstick she'd found rolling round on the floor. Claire reckoned it could've fallen out of a woman's purse, had she dropped it quickly. At any rate, a few lines of 'hooker red' informed Chris that there was a rat-thing about, and that she had gone "where the good folk go" - not a very subtle clue, but, she hoped, it wouldn't matter. After all, it wasn't like this town was teeming with people.

From her patchy memory, St. Augustine's Church was nearly dead in the centre of the town. It meant if she needed to leave the settlement in hurry, she'd be in a bit of difficulty to do so fast enough on foot. Hopefully, though, if Chris came to find her, he'd bring some sort of transport. Preferably something classy and comfortable. She grinned at an image of Chris showing up in a Porsche 9-11. The good thing about the Church, however, was that it was also in the dead centre of a large park, with the graveyard to one side. She would have 360 degree visibility from the bell tower. There were also numerous exits, should someone approach.

All in all, Claire was pleased with her decision to lie low in the church, but she could not pretend the idea of looking for it with only the haziest of foggy memories as a guide did not make her nervous. Nevertheless, she snapped the lid back on the tube of lipstick and – thinking it could be useful later on – slipped it into her pocket before disappearing out of the apartment building and back onto the gray streets.

Walking still did not seem to be doing Claire many favours – it had a tendency to make her feel woozy still – but she was feeling much better. Indeed, the first thing she did when back outside was to inspect the area where she'd seen the puddle. To her worriment, Claire saw the concrete hadn't even the slightest red tint or hint of a watermark. _I must've been wrong, or remembering something from somewhere else. _

Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling this revelation gave her – _but it had felt so real! –_ Claire continued past the stinking garbage can and in the direction she thought to lead to the centre of the town. But her mind was still drawn back. _If that wasn't real, what is? Could it have been a hallucination? Is all of this a hallucination?_ She thought of the man in the red shirt she'd seen before she had passed out. Was he real?

_Am I cracking up? _

Claire continuously tried to push these unsettling thoughts from her mind, but much like a child can not stop pushing at a loose tooth, she couldn't stop worrying over them. As she half-walked, half-stumbled through the deserted streets she began to wonder if she wasn't lying strapped to a hospital bed, drugs being fed to her intravenously, friends standing around her unresponsive form dejectedly.

_Creepy, _she thought decisively, and shuddered.

She probably would have thought that over some more if it hadn't been that, with that shaking movement, she caught sight of a WalMart. Quickening her pace, Claire stumbled towards it, hoping she could find a way in and get some things she needed. The doors, with lack of electricity to them, were shut. Fortunately for Claire however, they weren't locked, and she could quite easily hook her fingers around the slight edge and pull them apart. Slipping through the gap, she cautiously entered the darkened store.

It was cool inside, and her eyes adjusted slowly. Unsurprisingly, it was empty of people. But, with a grin, Claire saw that it still had everything she needed. Scurrying over to the snack section, she opened a chocolate energy bar and crammed as much as it into her mouth as was possible. Chewing quickly and swallowing hard, Claire could almost feel the energy spreading threw her. _But first things first, I need to get cleaned up._ Leaving the food behind reluctantly, she moved over to where cheap clothes and toiletries were kept.

_The best invention of human kind had been body wipes, _she told herself some time later. She had found the supply of Dove Body Wipes, and immediately had put them to good use in removing the vomit, blood, sweat and dirt from her skin. Then she'd opened two bottles of water and used them to give her hair a quick shower right there in Aisle 23 with some stolen shampoo and conditioner before using an also-stolen hairbrush and hair-tie to tie her long hair back into a bun.

She grinned. _I smell like apricot._

Clean, Claire felt so much better than she had before. Discarding her dirty, smelly clothes with the empty water bottles, she quickly went through the collection of store clothes to find a pair of dark khaki-green pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a black hooded sweatshirt. They weren't perfect camouflage, but they were no worse in that respect than her other clothes, and had the major plus of being warm and clean.

While still in the store, Claire had also 'acquired' a small backpack, which she filled mainly with non-perishable foods and a few sealed bottles of drink. She also added a small first aid kit of bandages, scissors, disinfectant, band-aids and, very importantly, Neurofen, to help her head.

Claire felt very pleased with herself indeed when she left the WalMart and continued on her way. Unfortunately, anything that could have made an effective weapon in the shop was too heavy for her to carry, in her current state anyway. But she still felt a lot safer and more confident than she had before.

After having had a small bite to eat, Claire's head seemed much clearer and she fancied she was making better progress. Sure enough, it wasn't long before she could see the spire of a Church through the town's skyline. For once, things were going well.

St. Augustine's Church was exactly as her memory had told her it would be; a small, rose building in the middle of a park. The park would've been beautiful in early spring – there were masses of cherry blossom trees around the perimeter. The rest was mainly grassland, apart from a few bushes.

Claire surveyed the Church and the park while leaning against one of the blossom trees with mounting paranoia. _What if some enemy read the message and got here before me? What if they're waiting inside..._

It took only a few seconds for Claire to gather her resolve. Knowing that it would be impossible to sneak up on anyone hiding inside, she moved boldly to the front door, gritting her teeth and expecting the worst. Her hands soon closed on the wooden handles. With a deep intake of breath, she pushed the doors open forcefully.

The church was silent.

Claire exhaled with noisy relief, and closed the doors behind her. Like many old-fashioned churches, St. Augustine's front doors were still locked by sliding a length of wood through loops. Claire did so, and leaned against them with her eyes shut briefly. Then, as paranoia rose, she took an elaborate candle stick from the dais and prowled the church, looking for stowaways.

When her paranoia streak was satisfied and all the doors were locked, Claire made her way up to the belltower with her backpack. She sat on the cold, bare floor and prepared herself to wait. Monitoring all 360 degrees proved to be problematic and tiresome, but there was no sign of movement. Claire waited and watched, waited and watched, for hours until the sun began to set. As she was beginning to lose hope and entertain morbid ideas as to what had happened to her brother, she saw movement to the eastern side.

Crouching down so that only the top part of her head could be seen through the large, glassless window, Claire carefully watched the figure that appeared on the east side of the park. It was not the direction from which she had come. She held her breath, willing it to be Chris.

A few more tense moments proved that it was.

She flew down the steep stairs, forgetting all about her pack of stuff, and quickly unlocked the door closest to where Chris would be. She stood in the doorway, and waved. Of course, Chris was blinded by the sun and couldn't see her until he passed into the church's shadow. When he did, he began to move faster into an uneasy run. He pulled her into a rough hug.

Then, together, they went back into the sanctuary of St. Augustine's.

* * *

**Author Note:** this is quite short, but I liked the happy ending for once. Future chapters will be longer.

The reason I put the WalMart part in, is because no one ever seems to show the "saviours" looting. I mean, I would if _I _were in a deserted town. But Claire has more reason than that - she smells disgusting and doesn't feel well.

And yes, I am trying to make her seem paranoid and jumpy on purpose!

If you have any critical comments, suggestions for improvements, or fancy a chat, please click the purplish button below!

_(Even if you don't, please press it anyway) _


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _To m y great sorrow, I am but a poor student. I do not own resident evil. But I would buy it off your for about thirty dollars, for that is all I have._

This has taken longer to get up because I am having some trouble with - although this story shows up on my profile and assures me it is in the Resident Evil category, it doesn't show up on the RE pages. I have sent a 'help' message, but I have had no response this far. Im hoping that this update will resolve the problem.

_Enjoy _

* * *

It wasn't until the door to the church was safely locked up again and they were keeping watch of the darkening area from the belfry that Claire and Chris finally allowed themselves to feel safe. He hugged her fiercely once again, nearly crushing her ribs.

"Chris!" she protested, half-laughing, "that _hurts_."

He didn't let her go for a few more seconds, and even then held onto her elbows, looking into her eyes to make sure she was okay. "I was so worried. When I got to the room and saw your message... and then when I opened the door and the lamp was all smashed… I thought, maybe…" he drifted off, as if trying to make himself believe that his little sister was perfectly fine and right before him.

"You went into the room? Why?"

"I needed to get some stuff," he explained vaguely, waving his hands around. He looked at her again, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I think so. I can't remember anything though, and my head keeps giving me some trouble." Claire smiled. "But I feel so much better after having robbed a Wal-Mart." She pressed the backpack into her brother's hands.

"You can't remember anything?" He took the bag without seeming to realize it, completely focused on her. "Not a thing?"

"Well, a few things," she admitted. "I knew where the church was, and something about a boat trip. I think I remember the monster -"

"Monster? What monster?"

Claire paused, bewildered. "The creature that hit me, and made my head so temperamental." She thought back to her first recollection upon waking up. "Tyrant-like creature, packing one helluva punch."

Chris sat down slowly, the darkness hiding his face. He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of water and two energy bars. He passed one to Claire, and opened the other and took a bite. After swallowing heavily, he seemed to look at her silently for a few moments. "Claire... there wasn't any monster. That rat-thing was the first monster I've heard of while I've been here." His tone sounded doubtful, as if he had his reasons for thinking she'd imagined the whole incident.

"Didn't you see it?" Claire asked desperately, "Or at least see signs that it had been in the apartment? Scratches at the door, that kind of thing?"

"Nothing. Just a broken lamp."

Claire stared at him in dismay. _Maybe I am going crazy_, she thought sadly as she remembered the puddle of blood that was never there and the young man who had disappeared. She sat down heavily by Chris, legs folded and hands on her khaki-clad knees, leaning forward slightly like she was going to vomit. "Then," she began shakily, "what did happen to me? What's going on with this town?"

Chris put an arm around her rigid shoulders and gave her a half-hug. She still felt confused and upset, but the gesture gave her a sense of security that for some reason made her want to cry. Tears prickling in the corner of her eyes, she tried to relax, and focused on the story Chris weaved in his warm, baritone voice.

_

* * *

Earlier_

The phone rang, blearing obnoxiously on the wall. Claire stumbled out of her bedroom in a large t-shirt and sleep shorts, reaching for the phone just as it stopped ringing. "Hell," she muttered. Instead of going back to bed, however, she lurched into the small kitchen and flicked on the jug.

Chris appeared on the other side of the breakfast bar, fully clothed and yawning heartily. His hair was still mussed up and his eyes were bleary with sleep. He took an apple from the yellow fruit-bowl and sat down on one of the stainless steel stools. They both stared tiredly into space, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"Who was that on the phone?" asked Chris, after the shrill whistle of the old jug had died down.

'Dunno," Claire replied, carefully measuring a teaspoon of coffee each for the two cups in front of her. "It stopped just as I got to it."

"Typical," he commented.

"Tell me about it."

"So. What have you got planned for today, sister of mine?"

"Well..." she handed him a cup over the bench, and blew on her own. "Getting dressed is high on the to-do list. Then, I might try and do that essay for business before I go to work at 12."

"I can't believe you're doing Business at night school. I mean, that means you have to go to _school_, at _night_, instead of hitting the clubs like you used to. And working at "Joe's Bikes" instead of slouching around on the couch?" Chris shook his head in mock disbelief. "I just can't believe it."

"Hey, now," she said with a slight laugh, but sobering quickly with a sip of coffee. "I want to start a bike store of my own one day. I swear, these guys don't know half the value of what of they've got. If the boss actually, you know, _tried _to sell it instead of mucking around with shares all day, he'd make a lot of money. Besides," Claire sighed as some came to hitting upon her crux, turning away from Chris, "it's not like I get invited to go out anymore."

"What! Why not?"

She shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance but still avoiding his piercing eyes. "I dunno. I guess I'm just not as much fun as I used to be or something. Once I stopped drinking lots - because of the whole "OMIGOD you're zombie" incidents – I didn't like hitting the clubs, and so I've fallen out of touch with my university friends."

"Claire..."

"I don't seem to have friends, now," she bit back a sob, thinking of her days at university which were full of fun, laughter and -_yes-_ cheap beer. "We're all from different places. We said we'd keep in touch after we'd finished our majors. Well, I didn't even get that far..."

"Claire..."

"It's just lonely." She shook her head ruefully and smiled at him. "It's nothing to do with you, though. Just had to get that out, y'know? There's only one thing good about Umbrella; it made me finally grow up."

Chris grabbed her hand across the counter. "You'll always be my kid sister, 'kay, even if drunken uni freaks are too wasted to realize how brilliant you are."

Claire smiled, "Oh, you know how to charm a girl.'

"Yes," he agreed blandly, putting his half-drunk coffee on the bench and pushing it in the general direction of the sink. "And with that, I have to go. Can't be late again!"

it wasn't until later that day when Claire was replacing the mudguards on a beat-up Mitsubishi that she really felt the cloud of loneliness lift from over her. Motorbikes were what she really loved. She wanted so badly to have a shop of her own, cultivate a good reputation for high quality products. It was while she was thinking about how likely the examiners were to pass her last essay and thus help her acquire this dream that her cell phone rang, the customized _'Family Guy'_ tune cutting jovially through the work area.

"Hello?" she answered, wiping her free hand on her oil-covered work jeans.

"_Hey it's me," _replied her brother's voice.

"Hello, me." She straightened up and leaned back against the rusty workbench. "What can I do for you?"

"_Something's come up... ,_" he sounded hurried, almost like he was expecting to be attacked. "_I can't explain over the phone but I need to meet you at the apartment. Say in 15 minutes?_"

Claire hesitated, knowing she risked losing her job if she left before her hours were up. Then again, it had to be important if it made Chris sound so desperate.

"Sure," she replied, "see you soon."

She slipped the phone back into her backpack, pulled it over one shoulder and walked tentatively out of the maintenance area. Once in the main building, she headed towards the office of her boss. Despite the name "Joe's Bike", the owner of the place was named Sam. He was sitting in his dingy room, feet propped on his desk and a newspaper spread over his knees. Joe was middle-aged, with an impressive middle-aged spread. He was nearly completely bald, despite being only 43, but had a sharp mind and tongue. He'd taken Claire on because he recognized her potential – he wasn't a _complete _loss as a business man – but she'd learned long ago he wasn't one to give any special favours.

"Where you going?" he said roughly.

"I just got a call from my brother's work," she quickly lied, "they said there's been some sort of accident involving Chris. They need me to go pick him up."

"Oh." Sam stopped slouching, and looked at her with something that could almost be partway between concern and pity. "Well, you get down there. Stay for as long as you have to. Hell, I'll even pay you what you'd normally earn. Just don't expect it again, yeah?"

Claire, despite her hurry, paused and stared at him. He was known for his scrooge-like, penny-pinching management strategies. "Sam, I - "

He waved her away, "Quickly now, before I change my mind," and went back to perusing the share market.

Claire knew better than to press her luck by thanking him, and in any case, she didn't have the time. The icy hand of terror clutched at her heart as she recalled his frantic, insistent tones.

_'Oh god! Have we be found? Are we being hunted again?'_

Umbrella was gone now, destroyed by its own incompetency, but they had left a legacy of primal fear that would haunt Claire until the end of her days. Or until she went senile. You pick.

She ran home from her workplace – taking a car everywhere was just too expensive. For the first time she cursed the extra time it took to get anywhere by foot. She turned the corner of a busy road to see the entrance to her apartment building nearly twenty metres away.

_'So close! Chris, I hope you're okay...'_

Suddenly, she felt the intrusive presence of an arm wrapping around her waist. She was jerked off her feet, momentarily winded, and pulled into the darkness of the doorway. Instinctively, Claire began to thrash wildly to free herself, but quickly stopped when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey! It's me! Gonna put you down now, okay? Don't run off, it'd be a lot of extra work."

_'Chris?'_

Claire turned quickly to face her brother. It first struck her how pale he was. The last time she'd seem him so nervous was when he was sixteen and about to sit his driving test. He'd thrown up on the instructor soon after.

Moving out of his vomit-projectile range, she urgently asked, "What's going on? What's the problem?"

He managed a bitter smile, "What would you say if I said a viral company had fucked up again?"

"I'd say... 'cliche'" she said, nearly choking on pure fear.

"Good, because that's not it. Then what would you say if I said we had a chance to stop a certain viral company, permanently?"

The raw panic subsidied. Now she knew why her brother seemed so antsy. Last time she'd been trying a stunt like that she'd ended up being chased by a cross-dresser in Antarctica. This would be different, though. She'd have Chris with her. And no stupid viral screw ups. _No one _was _that_ inept.

An anticipatory smile spread over her full lips. "I'd say, bring it on."

* * *

**Author Commentary:**

_I like the idea of Chris once being a nervous teenager, so that's why I put in the bit about how nervous he was. And if you're thinking that he might not be a little worried about the idea of entering another battle with viral companies, I challenge your opinion. I think that he'd still be nervous about fighting random creatures, trying to get out of the place uninfected and before it explodes... I could be wrong though, that's just my idea. Also, his bad little "joke" - no one ever said he had a good sense of humour._

_ I also tried to put a little info about their "normal" life. Sorry about the chapter break, but I think the first part was necessary.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

The reason Chris had insisted on seeing her so soon was simple: a contact had reached him at work, telling him that a plan belonging to one of the financial backers of the newly re-born Umbrella company would be leaving soon. A plane that required no security checks from border guards or airports.

"Sorted," Claire had said, with a smile that was more of a grimace. She watched the scenery pass by the car window in an anticipatory way.

"Well still have to be careful. There will be armed guards on the plane, no doubt, and it won't be a big plane. They could easily find us. And my contact – well, I trust him, but you can never trust someone with important details like this; you have to know them yourself. And... well... are you _sure _you still want to do this?"

He kept his eyes on the road and his voice calm, as if talking flippantly about the weather. Claire stared at his familiar profile. "Certainly," she affirmed. "These people have made my life hell. I want to use any opportunity I can to stop them."

Chris sighed, seeming unnaturally old and tired for a man of his age. "Claire... you've had a bad run in Antarctica. I mean, that guy who was helping you..." He took a hand off the steering wheel and rubbed his face, his calloused hands against making a rasping noise against the shadow of his stubble. "No one's going to think any less of you if you opt to sit one out once in a while."

She opened her mouth automatically to retort, but found she had no words to deliver an emphatic reply. Feeling foolish, she shut her jaw and glared out the window again.

He'd hit a nerve.

No, make that; he'd _struck _a nerve.

She didn't know why, but she could never _'sit one out'_. She had to keep fighting at every opportunity.

_Just in case it's my last chance._

She shoved that thought away, just as Chris turned the car into a small, dirty-looking carpark. Wordlessly, they exited the aging Ford Falcon, taking only their survival belts. On these ridiculously handy belts hung a mag-light torch, a customized handgun, pockets full of clips and others full of herbs, and a few Trail Bars. That should be all they needed. They weren't going to blow anything up, this time – this was a case of 'leak and leave'.

Chris had explained it earlier, while they were still driving;

"_There's only one way we can truly stop Umbrella – blowing up their facilities isn't it. It just proves to them that there are people who are worried about the uses these viruses could have – and if there's worry, there's always demand. And if there's demand, there's money. It makes Umbrella continuously realize what they have is really powerful and encourages them to make more. Not good."_

"_So, what choices do we have? What is this 'one way'?"_

"_We have to convince the financial backers of Umbrella that this isn't worth the trouble. I mean, these guys have mega-bucks so rebuilding facilities isn't going to be that difficult for them. But if we reinforce Umbrella as being incompetent and too much of a wildcard, then they might just cut their funding."_

"_What do you mean?"_

_Chris had smiled in a feral manner. "Leak and leave, little sister, leak and leave. It's even more fitting that we're hijacking an investor's plane. If the public is alerted that Umbrella is back up and running, well, it'll be more deadly than bombing all their facilities at once. Another death blow, especially after how the Original Umbrella crashed after Raccoon City."_

"_How'd you figure that? This company is new, young. It might be able to bounce back from something like that. Besides, we'd need to prove it existed to begin with, and God knows that's easy said than done."_

"_People with power want to keep it. The people who have the money must be powerful. If Umbrella is exposed again, it will be sued so badly all the _people _in it will be reduced to dust – not just the company's name. The big guys will try to pull back, regroup, but luckily for us we have contacts in the government through Leon. It will be like an orchestrated fall-out of Raccoon City, no rats will be able to get off the sinking ship or out of the burning building. And that should severely take the heat off any people who want to become the next big thing – or even small thing – in the viral industry."_

"_So what are we doing on this mission, exactly?"_

"_Finding a way to make the media and the public believe us. Umbrella is great at paying people off, but it can't pay off everyone, especially if the guys with all the money are soiling themselves in fear. We need documents, names, videos, samples, - incriminating evidence that the Senate can't ignore."_

"_I thought that they had known about Umbrella."_

"_People with power, little sister. Once this goes public again, they'll have to actively stop Umbrella permanently or they'll have a revolution on their hands."_

_Claire had nodded to show that this had made sense – it was foolish to try to ignore the power of the mob, as anyone who'd ever seen a game of rugby should realise._

_Chris's smile had grown even wider, a wryly satisfied gleam sparkling in his eyes. "Fuck me, I love democracy."_

* * *

Stowing away on the plane had not been easy. Claire didn't know the model or the make – after all, if it wasn't a motorbike then it wasn't worth using – but Chris had been right; it was small. She'd crammed herself into a wooden crate that was half-filled with expensive books when the guards did a customary round to check nothing was amiss. She didn't know where Chris had hidden, except that he must've been as uncomfortable as her.

She fervently hoped the guards wouldn't hang around. The smell of the books was making her eyes water and her nose itch, and her back was already complaining about the angle it was bent in.

Luckily, the guards returned to the considerably more luxurious part of the small plane, which meant Claire had leave to quietly creep out of the wooden crate and stretch her aching muscles. Chris unfolded himself from an over-sized suitcase – the contents of which were, she saw, scattered haphazardly behind the boxes. She would've laughed, but her nose was tingling too badly.

Claire's eyes were aglow with adrenaline. Here they were, stowing away on the the enemy plane, with the enemy themselves only a few feet away and completely unaware. Talk about a power kick. She felt a thrill of fear and anticipation at the task that lay before them, and silently prayed that her stealth was up to it.

Chris stretched painfully, wincing as a disc in his spine seemed to rotate back into place. "Ouchies," he muttered sarcastically. After glancing at Claire to reassure himself that she was okay, Chris made his way over to the door on silent feet, leaning against the metal surface in an old-fashioned attempt to eaves drop.

Despite badly wanting to follow suit and hear what he was hearing, Claire sat on the box which had been her hiding place and looked around the compartment they were in. Equipment was arranged in neatly stacked boxes, with large suitcases also in one corner.

_I wonder if this guy is moving places? _

Chris crept back over to her side, motioning that they should go to the back of the hold to discuss what he'd just head. She nodded, and moved confidently away.

Chris grabbed her arm suddenly, creating a ripple of shock. It was caused by an ignored fear, a fear she had hidden deep inside herself, that had somehow managed to cut a chink in her adrenaline-filled armor. She'd turned towards him, gasping audibly. She nearly managed to convince herself that he was an Umbrella lackey in that millisecond of panic.

He pointed wordlessly to a camera, nestled like a fat black spider in the corner of the ceiling.

_Oh, whoops. That was, uh, lucky._

'So, what'd they say?" Claire asked hurriedly, pushing irritably at her red hair and trying to pretend she hadn't just nearly compromised them.

"They were talking about the state of the company." Chris chewed the inside of his cheek, a fretful habit from his early childhood. "This idea might not work."

"Might not work?"

"I think the research is going much better now."

"But..." her brow wrinkled in confusion and denial. "No?"

"Yeah," Chris said softly. He turned away from her so she couldn't see the anger boiling inside his blue eyes. "It sound like Leon may have left some of the finer details out when he was telling us about his findings in the line of duty."

"What!"

"Ada and Wesker were also in Spain. Wesker's the... leader, organizer, researcher, whatever... he's the Head of the new Umbrella. They got a sample of that strange virus that was over there. Plagas. Apparently, its providing the basis for some very interesting research..."

_Ada._

_Wesker._

_That bitch in the red dress._

Claire's insides seemed to freeze. Leon had lied to her? Why? Because of... _Ada Wong? _In the version of events Leon had told them, the sample of Saddler's virus had fallen over the edge, into the sea, seemingly only existing now as inspiration. The 'third party' which had been there had been a nameless entity.

"How could he have been so stupid?" Chris wondered, lacking the anger that would later bubble over and seep through him. Even though the rage was building, Chris was smart enough to know that to let it have any control would turn this cargo hold into a death trap. "Did he think Umbrella wouldn't use it?"

She tried to empathize with her brother, hoping to shelve the horrible thought that Leon had betrayed them to Ada. "Do you think we should call him when we're off this plane?" she whispered, looking fixedly at the floor.

Chris paused before answering. "Yeah, that might be best. See what he knows. Fortunately, it sounded like Wesker and Ada aren't going to be there, so we shouldn't be recognized. The lowers the likelihood of ass kick-age." He looked up at the roof of the hold, then stepped forward to squeeze her shoulder gently. "Back in your box, girl, this plane's beginning to land."

Grateful for a chance to mull this new development over – _I guess I really don't have any friends left – _Claire helped shut her brother in the large silver suitcase before slinking back into her wooden crate. She longed to have a small cry, get the complicated mix of emotions that were attacking her out, but that would be stupid.

If her brother could control his rage, she sure as hell could control her feeling of betrayal.

But after this mission was over... let's just say Leon was cruisin' for a bruisin'.

* * *

Author Note: 

_Sorry about the big part in italics. But i thought it was better as a Claire-directed flashback rather than a narrated Claire-flashback, if you know what I mean._

_I hope Chris's leak-n-leave theory wasn't too tedious and made some sense. The idea is that old-Umbrella caused so much outcry, new-Umbrella should cause more. They just have to prove it exists and have files of all the personnel so they can hunt down the ringleaders before they disappear like smoke in mist._

_If you remember in the last chapter Claire said she didn't have many friends. I think this was added to by Leon's "Betrayal". I think Claire feels she still should have a hold on Leon. My personal theory. Feel free to disagree._

_I also think that if anyone has a hold on him, it's Ada. And he doesn't want to admit that she betrayed him, again. I think there's a lot of pride to grapple with in this chapter. I hope it is understandable._

_Also, all this 'angsty-stuff' Claire is experiencing in the "flashbacks" is building up to what is the cause of so many mysteries in the 'present day'._

_Please Review!_


	7. Chapter 7 Filller

**WARNING: **this chapter has NO plot development. Also, it contains candles. You have been warned.

Er sorry about that. I felt it needed to be said in advance. And thanks for being patience – university exams leave you feeling mind-raped and in no mood for forming coherent sentences. I've been saying things like "fsgl" for nearly two weeks

_((Okay, so on with the filler))_

* * *

_**Back in the Church**_

Claire started as the memories flooded back. "Yeah," she said slowly,"Yeah, that seems really familiar." She stretched herself contemplatively against the rose-bricks of the church's bell-tower. "But, didn't we get on a boat at some point? I remember a boat. And the monster, the creature, I'm sure there was one."

Chris' darker eyes were infathomable in the gathered darkness. There seemed to be a sadness about him now, reminiscent of the time he'd had to tell her their dog had died. Then, in a flash, that aura disappeared and he was back to his normal, take-charge self.

He stood, brushing down his trousers and looking over the blackness of the surrounding area. The sun had completely sunk by now and the moon showed, contrasting more brightly in the absence of its more intense sibling. There were no stars. It was unnerving, like the sky was a pool of deep, black waters. On the horizon, a few clouds glowed a pale silver.

"We should get back into the main part of the church where it's sheltered," he said briskly, cutting off his story. "It's gonna get very cold up here. It's already starting to turn frosty."

"Oh... okay. You coming down too?"

"Sure," he replied. Picking up the backpack full of supplies, he helped Claire to stand. She noticed he was still wearing his survival belt, though hers had been missing ever since she had woken up in the dingy apartment in this gray ghost town.

She followed him down the twisting stairs until they were back in the church's interior. It was then that she began to appreciate how much light the outside sky had given. In here, it was so dark she couldn't detect the slightest movement when she waved her hand vigorously just in front of her nose. She crept back up one step as images of creatures waiting in the darkness filled her mind; hunters in the rafters, bandersnatches in the alcoves, zombies under the pews...

Chris, of course, did not suffer from such attacks of imaginative fear. He simply lit his Zippo, casting a small puddle of light around the first that held the lighter. Slowly, almost tenderly, he applied the flame to the squat, dusty candles that were placed on the altar. The flickering flames partly illuminated the church, casting an almost benevolent glow on the forgotten sanctuary.

Despite doctrine, Claire stepped over the red-cord rope that cordoned the dais away, leaning against the wall closest to the candles.

Chris looked at her strangely. "Not scared of the dark?"

"In this place? You'd better believe it."

He looked around, sighing slightly. "It's gonna get so cold in here... Did you check the other rooms?" When Claire nodded, he continued; "Was there anything in them that could be used to start a fire?"

"Um, one had books and paper-y things in it, but I don't really think - "

It was too late, Chris had already gone.

_Damn it._

Left alone with the scant light produced by the holy candles, Claire began to puzzle over what Chris had told her. So, they'd gone in with the intent of exposing Umbrella's bad behaviour, eh? So then what had happened? How the _hell _did she end up with something that seemed like Satan's hangover? And where _were _they anyway? What kind of townspeople just disappeared? There had to be a reason... and it was probably a sinister one.

_Why do these types of things always happen to me? _Claire sighed._ Now my business paper will be late. I'll never pass the damn course._

Presently Chris returned. In his arms was a bundle of hard-covered books that had golden lettering on their bindings. He dumped them unceremoniously in the middle of the aisle.

"Uh, Chris?"

He knelt down beside the pile and began ripping out the creamy pages from one of the obviously cared-for books. "Mmhmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Paper plus flame equals fire. Cold winter night in drafty church equals deadly. Cold winter night in drafty church _plus _fire equals slightly more comfortable." He continued making a messy pile of kindling without even looking towards her.

_Damn. I hate it when he talks in Algebra._

"But... this is a _church. _Isn't that sacrilegious?"

Chris gestured towards her shoulders which, despite being covered by the new black sweatshirt, were beginning to shake already. "Do you really care right now?"

_Guess I don't particularly._

Still, it was hard to stop involuntary winces when Chris began to dismember a wooden pew to use as fire wood. She nearly blushed in embarrassment – _Why do I have to have a brother who is _so _logically _practicalHer objections were soon overruled, however, as the fire grew in height and intensity. Moving closer to the dancing source of warmth, she began to feel that perhaps any gods who existed wouldn't mind their churches being used in such a way when in brought so much comfort.

_And if they do... too damn bad. I'll take the bolt of lightening like a man._

She tried to get Chris to continue the story, but either he was stone-walling or he was too tired to string sentences together properly. Either way, the soporific effect of the flames quickly fueled her exhaustion. Using the backpack she'd taken from the WalMart as a pillow, Claire lay down by the fire.

Perhaps it was the glow from the flames of both fire and candles that illuminated the old, rosy church in flickering bursts that made her feel secure, or maybe it was the sight of her brother, half asleep but in a pose that meant he could quickly spring to action, and with his favourite handgun nearby. In either case, for the first time that day Claire felt truly safe. For as long as she was in this room, she felt that nothing could hurt her.

_'Invincible,'_ she thought drowsily, and at long last the hypnotizing flames succeeded in sealing her eyes shut.

**Author Note:**

_Yay my finals are over. Sadly, my next semester begins in two weeks. Oh, the joy. _

_In other, more related news; _

_Bit of a filler, sorry about that. But if it was all plot, it wouldn't be that much fun, eh? It's not the same sort of quality (I think) as most of my writing – a little jerky – but I wanted to keep it in for some variety, and also to let my writing get back into synch before I try something a little more juicy._

_I was trying to describe the church, once the candles were lit, as a 'safe room' like in RE1 when you walk in to a small cupboard-room below the stairs and there's all soft light and calming music and you think to yourself - "I might just stay here because my ass will get gored as soon as I leave". You know the one. _

_Um also if anyone gets offended by Chris starting a fire in the church... well, _I _don't personally burn down churches so you're gonna have to take that up with Chris himself._

_Thanks for reading._


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry this took me so long to get out! This was freshly written! I had originally just gone to them waking up in the morning, but this was so much fun to write, I just had to put it in. There's a lot of blatant symbolism! _

_Anyway, sorry 'bout the wait! My internet connection gets real dodgy sometimes. Hope you enjoy this_

_

* * *

_

Vaguely, Claire knew she was dreaming.

But, as soon as she'd realised this, the notion had flown away, leaving her in a part of her mind that seemed as real as anything she had ever encountered.

She was in the church. She knew instinctively that it was the same holy sanctuary she had run to earlier, even though the dream-church was different to the real St. Augustine's. The bricks were gray instead of the pale rose, and there was an air of intimidation rather than forgiveness and protection. The charred remains of the fire Chris had started were at her feet, the ashes still smoking slightly.

Claire was alone. The empty pews were gathering dust, the rafters cobwebbed with the paint peeling back. There was no one where Chris had lain down for sleep, but his Glock remained. She picked up her brother's favourite gun gingerly, and inspected it.

All in working order.

She shivered, suddenly chilled. It brought the saying '_some one just walked over my grave_' to the forefront of her mind. She felt like someone had driven a truck over her grave. She re-checked that the safety catch was on the Glock, and then stuffed the gun through a black leather belt; a belt that seemed to appear for this purpose.

Straightening, she looked around the church. Her breath stuck in her lungs.

Somehow, bodies had materialized when she'd bent to pick up the gun. They lay slumped in the pews, as if killed during Mass or even a Wedding. They were zombies, she saw, their eyes staring sightlessly, filmed with death's white-wax, and their skin mottled and chalky as if bruised all over. Their hair was filling out in clumps – even that of the women.

The Priest or Reverend was collapsed over the dais like a Pagan sacrifice. Blood and pus oozed over the white of the altar cloth, an insult to religion. The dead man's face was turned away and obscured, but the back of his bald decaying head had three gouged marks, as if scraped by claws. One arm was flung over the altar, hanging limply. His fingers were slightly curled in death, and seemed to sway in a non-existent breeze.

Claire backed away from the prone man, and then realized that in so doing she was putting herself closer to the zombie congregation. She turned quickly, uncharacteristically panicked, to look for the side door.

It wasn't there.

The only exit from the church was the large double doors that, behind the pews and their undead residents, seemed so very far away.

Taking a deep steadying breath and then gagging at the smell of rotting flesh, Claire forced herself to walk down the aisle. Chris' gun seemed heavy and slippery in her sweating palms, but she took it from her belt and kept it raised, waiting for a hungry moan and the feel of a clammy dead hand.

She was passing the last pew when she heard the inevitable keening wail of a hungry T-virus victim emit from the left. Claire rushed the remaining metres to the heavy double doors, pushing against them desperately.

They were locked.

She remembered the wooden pole that barred them shut, and leant over to remove it, the sounds of the zombie standing and waking its comrades filling her ears. The pole stuck in the loops as more moans and heavy footsteps joined in. Claire worked it up and down desperately, determinedly, her teeth coming down upon her lower lip.

She couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, and saw that all of the creatures had their dead eyes fixed on her, hungrily watching her attempts to reach freedom.

Claire jerked her gaze away from them. She twisted her hands around the wood, picking up splinters, and pulled it frenziedly. It moved in quick bursts, finally coming free from the loops. She held the wooden bar in one hand and pushed at the doors with the other. It opened slowly, so slowly.

She changed a glance over her shoulder to see how much time she had, and found herself looking into the gaze of a very familiar zombie.

It made her freeze.

Some level of her had been expecting to see Chris, hunger crazed and no longer himself, but somehow this was even worse.

It was _herself_.

Looking at the zombie was like looking into the future. She could see her self – her _real_, very afraid self – reflected in her twin's dead and waxy eyes. The creature was so familiar and yet so incredibly alien. This combination sent shudders of fear which struck primal terror down her spine. Claire tried to back away from the apparition, but she had hesitated too long.

The damp hands, bloody and chillingly cold, clutched at her neck. Their very touch caused burning pain. The grip grew tighter, crushing against her windpipe. Claire fought against the poisonous contact, her hands pushing at the creature's head and becoming entangled in the dank hair that hung in patches from its mottled scalp.

Some of the hair came off in her hands. She made a whimper of revulsion as it tangled around her fingers.

The parody lifted the real Claire's head with terrible strength. Hair-bound fingers scrabbled at the door behind her, somehow coming in contact with the wooden bar.

Claire swung it as hard as she could against the zombie's head, making the skull cave in. It fell onto her, shuddering in death throes. Its dying breath was cold and clammy. Warm, sticky blood seeped through the material of her pants. She pushed it off, watching in intrigued horror as the waxy eyes cleared gradually to become her own blue, the hair reappeared, and blood filled the skin. It look as if it were the real Claire sleeping. The wooden bar dropped from her unresponsive fingers.

Then, Claire ran.

She ran from the church, from 'her' body, from the grasping hands of the unfortunate zombies. She ran blindly through the park, not noticing the sky was darkened by the branches of trees that shouldn't have been there, running until she realised that she was suddenly in a dark, dense forest.

She spun round, looking at the dark green leaves and the dark gray trunks of the trees. Her mind reeled and her legs felt shaky. She needed an anchor, something to hold on to. She was going to be sick, she was going to go crazy, she was lost, she wanted to -

"_Claire?"_

The world stilled.

"_Are you in pain?"_

The words were not spoke, but seemed to fall into her mind like pebbles into a pond. Effortlessly. The 'voice' was so familiar, but she couldn't quite remember who it belonged to.

She opened her eyes, not even knowing she had closed them, and found herself on the dirt of the forest floor. She stood, moving slowly and searching for the 'speaker'.

"_Follow me."_

Finally, she caught sight of the person. They were wearing black pants and a red shirt.

It was Chris. He had his back facing her as he led the way out of the forest, but it was unmistakably her beloved older brother.

Confused, she trustingly followed him. The forest, though still very scary, was not nearly as intimidating as it was before. Gradually, the canopy began to thin. Claire looked gratefully towards her brother.

Who wasn't Chris any more.

His hair wasn't the familiar tint of dark brown. It was red. The clothes were the same, it had to be the same person, but now it was...

_Steve?_

He was getting further away. Claire ran to catch up, the forest thinning out more quickly. As the light became stronger, the colour of the man's hair changed into a sandy-blond.

Leon.

Claire screamed his name, not sure whether she wanted to catch up so she could hit him for not being entirely honest about what had happened in Spain, or to hug him and beg him to fix whatever was going on. Whatever was wrong with her.

But as she got closer, the forest kept thinning out and the resulting light showed the hair colour was lighter still. It wasn't until Claire was a step behind the man that she realised who he had finally become.

Wesker.

Now, she took a step back.

The man turned slowly to face her. He wasn't wearing his dark glasses, and his inhuman eyes shone fiercely.

She took another big step back.

"What's happening?" she whimpered, trying to get away from the man who had hurt her so badly in Antarctica, and who was hell bent on murdering her brother.

Wesker seemed to look at her appraisingly, as if he were a builder giving a quote for a job. "You know what's happening," he said in a flat, expressionless voice.

"I'm not turning into one of _you, _you _freaks_," she spat angrily, hoping against hope that she was telling the truth. Still backing away, she tripped over a tree root and turned her head, waiting for the sharp burst of pain that would be Wesker, snapping her neck.

The infamous traitorous bastard, however, was still in the same place he had been after Claire had realised who her 'dream savoiur' was finally going to turn into. He leant against the light gray trunk of a convenient sapling, and checked his fingernails. "I don't believe I said you were."

"Then what is happening to me!"

He shrugged as if were of particularly little importance. "Why ask me?"

"You're with Umbrella! You helped make the damn virus!"

"True, to some extent. But ultimately irrelevant."

Claire carefully got back on her feet and pushed her hands into the deep pocket of her black sweatshirt. Now that their exchange had finished, Wesker seemed to be paying her little attention. She tried to talk to him again, but he stared off into space as if seeing something she couldn't.

She took a step closer, unnerved.

He didn't seem to realise she was still there until she was on step away from him. He blinked with surprise as he looked down at her.

"What's wrong with _you_?" Claire asked, curious and also trying to be provoking.

The ex-captain said distantly, "Something's happening."

"What?"

"How should I know? This is _your_ mind."

"My mind?" she echoed.

_My mind._

_Dream._

_It's a dream._

_I'm just dreaming._

_I'm just dreaming about being saved from evil forest and me-zombie by Chris who is really Steve who is really Leon who is really Wesker?_

"What happened to me?" she asked urgently, "Why is everything so... psychotic?"

He looked down at her again, too close for comfort. Still somewhat dazed, he gently plucked a leaf from her hair and dropped it, watching it flutter to the ground.

She frowned at him. Whatever was wrong with her must be very wrong indeed if it made her dream-representation of Wesker act like a doped hippie.

"Drugged," he confirmed lethargically, apparently reading her thoughts.

"You're drugged?" she asked incredulously.

"How can I be drugged? I'm a figment of your imagination."

Claire screwed her forehead up tightly as something nudged with gentle force at her brain. "A drugged figment?"

"A drugged imagination?" he countered.

Claire stared at him.

The cogs of her brain started to go _'click'_.

Wesker's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head very slightly as if disturbed by something. His hand grasped her shoulder for support, and Claire froze as his feral eyes dimmed back to a human blue. His fingers began to crumble in a shower of dust even as the grip on her shoulder tightened. The pressure of his weight leaning on her lifted as he fell apart, crumbling into pieces until even his face was gently dissolving.

She grasped at an arm but her hand closed on what felt like burning, gritty ash. "Wesker!" she screamed, "What's going on?"

"_You know but you don't want to know."_

"I _don't_ know! Tell me!"

But by now, the dream-Wesker was scattered dust that floated through the outskirts of the forest. All that was left of him was a pair of dark glasses that Claire picked up, cleaned off, and put in her pocket for safe-keeping. She looked up, blinking against the ferocity of the sun, her gaze following some of the dust's travel.

"Come back," she shouted in despairing frustration, "I was nearly onto something!"

The landscape was silent. Claire knelt and cradled her head in her hands, groaning slightly. She felt like there was pressure behind her eyes, pushing against her from inside her skull. Something there wanted to get out.

The forest began to grow up around her, becoming darker and more threatening. This time, she knew, there would be no Wesker to lead her out. It would take her back to nightmares of hunters and zombies. She didn't need that.

"Wake up, come on, wake up," she muttered. She screwed her eyes up and concrentrated, trying to rouse herself. "Come on. Come on."

The forest kept growing, vines tangling the tree branches. Animal growls begun to sound from the darkness around her. Eyes glowed and winked out, reappearing in different places.

"Claire?"

"Claire?"

"Wake up."

She opened her eyes, and found herself staring into the face of her brother. He seemed half asleep; groggy, but concerned.

"You 'kay?"

"Yeah." She exhaled heavily. "Just a nightmare."

"Wan' to talk about it?"

"Nah. I'm fine." She smiled for emphasis. "You go back to sleep."

"'mmKay. See you i' the mornin'"

Claire could tell by her brother's spaced-out manner that he would remember nothing of this incident when dawn grabbed the sky with her rosy fingers. It was probably just as well – she didn't want to have to explain that in the end, it was Wesker who had helped her. What would that say about her psyche?

Freud would have a field day.

She stared into the fire, which – contrary to her dream – was still crackling merrily on the church pew. She twisted over to her side, but was stopped by pressure at her hip.

Claire reached into her pocket, pulling out a very familiar pair of black aviators.

She rubbed the glass between her fingers. They felt real. Looked real. But there was no way in hell that they _could _be real because that would mean that the rest of the dream was real. And it was impossible.

_Maybe I'm still asleep? Maybe this is a – a- a waking dream, or something. Another hallucination? Maybe it'll all be gone in the morning. Maybe I'll know what's wrong with me. Maybe thing's will look bright when the sun's up, yeah?_

_Yeah._

Claire fell asleep with the glasses in her hand, reflecting the fire's light.

But it took her a long time.

* * *

**Author Note:**_ writing this "dream" was so much fun. I wanted to make it creepier, but doing that made it _"too" _creepy. Some commentary bullet points follow below:_

_(1) Claire meeting zombie!Claire: I assumed everyone would expect her to come across Chris in the dream at some point, most likely as a zombie, but I think Claire would be really afraid of turning into one herself. I also thought she'd be worried in the dream that somehow she'd been infected, and that's why Chris had been acting so weird._

_ (2) Chris - Steve - Leon - Wesker: My reasoning here was not only is the colour of hair right for this progression, but its in order of who would be most likely to tell Claire what was wrong with her, from least likely to most likely. Chris is least, because he wouldn't want to worry her, and would want to fix it by himself. Steve, because he also wouldn't want to tell her something she didn't want to hear, but would tell her before Chris because he couldn't fix it without her help. Leon would probably be hesitant in telling her, but his sense of moral obligation would mean he would tell her before the others. And Wesker would be the most likely to tell her, because he wouldn't care if it made her depressed or upset. _

_ (I also know Wesker turned out sort of "fun house" but that was intentional. After all, its not the _real _Wesker, just a dream version)_

_(hehe, black glasses. Ooh. Intrigue) _


	9. Chapter 9

She woke up bone cold.

The floor beneath her seemed sub-zero. Claire wondered briefly if her tongue would stick to the concrete if she licked it. That would be embarrassing, she thought, to die of hunger and cold because of something so stupid. Despite this, she had to restrain the more idiotic part of her from tasting the ground with difficulty – the temptation to try it became stronger the longer she stayed there.

Claire sat up and bent over her knees, stretching out her back. The uncomfortable 'pillow' had done a number on her posture. She went to rub her neck, but found there was something in her hand.

Wesker's glasses.

She stared at them for a full thirty seconds, reliving her dream. With a groan, she fell back onto the backpack, a hand to her forehead, and tried to reason.

_There is no way in hell that Wesker was here last night. I picked the glasses up in my dream, yeah, after he'd dissolved... I don't think Wesker could really dissolve. Certainly would put a crimp in his evil plans. And I was in a forest. There are no forests around here._

_Unless, _a little voice piped up, _you were sleep walking while you dreamt. Then maybe you were outside, and picked up the glasses._

_Nah,_ she rebutted, _Wesker would've killed me and Chris. And we're alive. Thus, no Wesker._

She sat up at the thought of Chris, and glanced over to the space her brother had occupied last night. It was empty. The Glock handgun was gone, and the remains of the fire had carefully been swept up.

He was gone.

No signs of struggle.

She called his name softly, staring at the bare patch of floor. When there was no reply, she increased her volume, panicky waves rolling over her. Claire glanced around the church, and saw that the side-door was partially open.

_Oh shit._

After a bare milli-second's thought, she slipped the glasses in to her pocket and threw herself frantically up the spiraling stairs, moving as fast as she dared. She hoped that when she reached the top, she would see Chris through the large, panoramic bell-tower windows. If she'd gone through the door, she'd miss 180 degrees of visibility.

Claire hoped she made the right choice.

She finally reached the last stair, and came tumbling into the circular room, desperately hoping her brother hadn't gone through the park surroundings already.

Chris seemed quite surprised to see her looking so panicked.

"Claire!" he asked, swiftly crushing a cigarette butt against the windowsill and flicking it over the edge. "What's wrong?"

She was equally surprised to see him, having accepted immediately that either he had been forced to leave, or had chosen to abandon her. She had thought the first was more likely, but nevertheless she had been expecting a lonely day of fearful searching. Claire twisted her black hooded sweatshirt back to being straight – somehow her panicked flight up the stairs had twisted it in strange ways – and thrust her hands into the big front pocket. Her blue eyes avoided his, preferring instead to stare at the brickwork of the floor as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame.

"I, er, woke up and... er..." she gestured with her neck, like a bird.

"You thought I'd run off and left you?" said Chris, a distinct measure of chilly hurt in his voice. He covered it quickly though, turning away from her. He placed his hands flat of the windowsill, transferred his weight to them and gazed over the park. His eyes fell on the cherry blossom trees.

"I didn't know what to think," Claire admitted, her cheeks still full of fire. "I woke up, and panicked. I didn't know what to think." She stepped closer to him. "I guess you were keeping watch, huh?"

"Among other things."

"I'm sorry. I thought perhaps something – well, let's face it. I just didn't think."

Chris nodded slightly, very slightly. Almost absently his fingers slipped into the chest packet of his dark shirt and withdrew an empty, battered packet of cigarettes. He looked at it with faint disgust, and then threw it over the side of the window.

"I thought you'd stopped that," commented Claire.

He shrugged. "Some habits die hard."

"Yeah." She walked up to be beside him, but face the other way with her back against the small bit of wall that separated one window from another. She glanced at her brother's face, noticing for the first time how old he looked. Her hands, still in her pockets, twitched. "Who'da thought we'd end up like this, huh?" she said, watching him carefully.

Chris still gazed at the blossoms. "Yeah. Who'da thought it."

They stayed in this strange, uneasy silence as the sun rose, bathing the church in a pale yellow light that gave no warmth. Eventually, Chris turned to her. His eyes, blue just like hers, seemed to be unusually troubled.

"A lot of strange things have happened since we got off that plane," he said in a near whisper.

Claire felt the weight of the impossible glasses in her pocket. "I don't remember."

"I know," he sighed, "That's one of the strange things."

Claire took one hand from the black triangular pocket of her sweatshirt and put in into her pants pocket, touching the cool glass of the dark lenses. She took a breath. "Chris, I gotta know. How did we end up here? What is wrong with this place?"

"I gotta tell you. I just... don't know how to say it."

Claire felt suddenly cold, but at the same time she could feel sweat beading on her forehead. She took her hand away from the glasses and, with an air of forced calm, gripped on to the windowsill behind her so tightly her knuckles turned red and white. She couldn't tel if it was out of nerves or for support. Her pulse beat a loud tattoo in a vein on her forehead. It drummed so wildly she thought it must be visibly pulsing, about to explode.

Chris, who had taken up looking at the trees again, didn't appear to notice her discomfort. "When the plane landed, we had to wait for an hour, perhaps two, before we had a change to get off without the guards noticing us. During that hour... well, we sat and feared what could be waiting for us. Had the virus Ada took from Leon been used in someway? We had no idea what we were getting into anymore.

"Fortunately, like I said, we managed to get off without being detected, which was no mean feat. But even then, things were going to get more difficult, and fast. These guards, the people of this company – they're sharp. Not stupid at all. They don't slack off on the job. I guess new-born Umbrella treats them better than its predecessor.

"Anyway, through luck as much as skill we scoped out the facility. We found this bolt-hole, an old night-shift room that you like because - "

"It had purple curtains with large pink stars that you found painful," Claire finished, a strange look on her face. "Yeah, I remember that."

"Yeah. Well, I guess Lady Luck fancies me, because our run was phenomenal. We ended up getting all the files we needed later, but we also found some very interesting documents about counterfeiting money. Guess that's how Umbrella manages to pay its multitude of employees so well. So we sent those ones straight back home as well." He gestured at the sky, as if they would be able to see the information traveling past the clouds. "They've probably been leaked by now. In fact, I'm pretty certain they have."

"So," Claire nodded her head slowly, "then what happened?"

"The inevitable. We got spotted. Oh, they didn't know who we were of course, or we'd have been killed on sight, but we were gong to be taken to someone who would. Fortunately for us, Preacher – my contact – appeared and with his help, we took care of our 'escorts'. He said we should leave. Steal a plane and get the hell out, like he was going to do."

"So why didn't we?" She turned to look at the cherry blossom trees as well. "Why didn't we just leave?"

"We didn't have the employee files," he answered lowly, "and we decided that the other stuff we had was pointless without it. Like the evidence of a crime but no suspects at all. But we did know where to find such a list – top security, small island beside the peninsula. And by small, I mean small. You could walk around it in about two and a half hours. No one goes there because, as well as being not worth the trip, it used to be a colony for lepers. If you were thought to have leprosy, you were exiled to this island until you died."

"Sounds like a charming holiday destination," Claire quipped.

"No," Chris frowned at her, "Not at all. Well, my guy wouldn't come with us for love nor money, but he did say he would stay at the main base so he could help us when we came back and needed to hightail it home. The boat ride was... nasty... It was dark by then, and the waves were big, rolling embodiments of nauseas fun. But we survived, mainly soaked, but alive.

"It didn't take long to cover the island, and there was only one building on it. You thought, and I agree, that there would probably be a building below the surface. But if there was, we never found it. We went inside the only building, which was old and green. Found our way into a blocked room, into a basement type thing. Offices. Beginning of an underground lab. Still in construction. There were files. Absolutely everything that we ever needed. It one was talking about Leon's Spanish virus and what developments they had made with it. And that was when it hit me..."

Claire waited, but Chris didn't reply. "When what hit you?" she promptly urgently.

"My brilliant idea," he said bitterly, "the idea that caused all this."


	10. Chapter 10

_**AUTHOR NOTE: **It would seem that this story is not showing up under the "Resident Evil" category, despite insistence that it is. Can any one else find it? If so please tell me - it's very frustrating that I can't "ensnare" hapless new readers to my fantastic, glorious, godly story. I feel sorry for the people whose lives have not been brightened by my creation... ahem_

_**distort-distort-yay  
**_

_**Earlier**_

The boat trip had been terrifying. The dark of the night made it impossible to predict when the next crashing big swell would come along, heavy waves which would pummel the side of the small boat and send furious flurries of saltwater cascading over the roofs and sides. Chris fought for control valiantly, muscles and tendons straining.

Claire was crouched down under the wheel, at his feet. One hand was wrapped around her stomach and the other clung tightly to the bottom of what she guessed was the boat's equivalent of a dashboard. She doubted a large ferry would have made it through the monstrous waves, let alone a geriatric tugboat.

A swell thrashed against the left – _port? _- side as she thought this, as if to confirm her fears. She groaned miserably.

Chris leaned back to check on her, and although she was probably a delicate tint of pale green, she managed a weak smile.

When the vessel finally came bumping against a small wooden jetty, the siblings threw themselves out with relief. After a joint effort of lashing the boat to one of the thick staves, they looked around the place they had landed at.

It was dark. The choppy surface of the see reflected the starlight and the pale moon, just enough to show how rough it really was out there. On the other end of the jetty was the island; small, hilly, and covered with forest that ranged from dense to sparse. It was too dark to see anything more than the blackness of the trees and the shadows of scraggly, thorny bushes.

"Where's the building s'posed to be?" Claire asked weakly, still looking a bit sick.

"In a valley." Chris twisted to look at his survival belt and quickly detached a small black maglight.

"Oh, goody."

He turned the torch on. It had a surprisingly strong, clear light for such a small bulb, which reached as far as the trees at the jetty's end. He let the light meander over the fringe of the forest. "We're gonna have to look for it."

"Extra goody."

Sighing, Claire turned her torch on as well, and soon there were two beams illuminating the surroundings. The jetty was old, the wooden planks twisting with years of exposure to sun and salt, shucking off the nails that had bond them. They had been painted once, a reddish brown that now lifted off in thick peels of colour. When the siblings walked, their steps echoed loudly even with the wild water sloshing noisily against the wooden poles beneath them. The occasional banging of the tugboat against the wood could also be heard, and this was comforting to Claire because it meant that their way out was still near by.

They stayed close together. After stepping onto more stable ground, the light of their torches revealed a well-worn track that wound between the trees. It was carpeted generously with pine needles and other leaves, and there were dark impressions that suggested the presence of rocks and large tree roots.

Chris frowned at it, and waved at Claire to get her attention.

"We're gonna have to be careful," he warned, "the pine needles might muffle our approach but it we get spotted they'll work against. Damn slippery, especially as they'll probably be dewy later on."

Claire nodded, carefully avoiding shining the light directly into her brother's face. "You think we should turn off the torches?"

"Yeah, now that we've found a path. Anyone could be waiting for us to approach... after all, they know intruders are about."

Searching the island was nerve-racking and slow-going. Chris was uncomfortably aware that the woods could be crawling with UBCS guys and they wouldn't know until someone gave a cry of alarm and opened fire. They had to creep carefully over every inch.

Claire enjoyed the musky forest sent until they crouched by a small copse of trees, around which the smell of decay lingered – probably due to some unfortunate bush critter. But her brother's words echoed in her mind – _if you had leprosy, you were exiled here. Until you died._ A shiver of fear trickled down her spine as she thought of how many desperate, despairing people were buried in the soil beneath her feat, and she tried to quickly squash the memory of dead Umbrella prisoners pushing their way out of Rockfort Cemetery.

Despite nerves, the pair concentrated on the steep, uneven, and above all slippery ground beneath them. Tree roots often bulged out of the path and rocks littered the steepest bits like loose teeth. It was not an easy track to follow, least of all in the dark.

Finally, after what had seemed like decades ( - _probably only thirty fun-filled minutes in reality, _Claire had thought wryly - ) they reached the top of the steepest hill. Nestled at the bottom, in a valley full of trees that met the sea at a sandy beach, shined an electric light.

It was a dusty, old lantern with a modern light bulb inside. Its glass panes were cracked and grimy. It hung on a rusting chain that was festooned with spiderwebs, and attached to an aluminium roof by a large bolt, in such a way that allowed it to swing wildly in the wind. The roof was old, weatherbeaten, and had once been painted green in patches. Some new sheets of unpainted aluminium carpeted older ones. The building attached underneath was also old and green, but wooden. The windows were streaked with dust and dirt.

It looked like an unused warden's hut.

Chris shone the beam of his torch through one of the dirty windows, peering inside cautiously. "No one's home," he whispered, "let's go take a look."

The door was unlocked, but on stiff hinges. Chris had to put his shoulder up against it and push with all his strength before it even began to move. With lots of effort, it finally opened in painful grating bursts. When the gap was big enough for both of them to slip through, Chris went inside and leaned against a wall, panting.

"I would close it," he said, whispering once again, "so we'd know if someone else tried to follow us inside, but I don't know if I'd be able to open it again."

Claire looked around the interior. The torch-beam showed desks with neat stacks of paper, filing cabinets, office chairs, and an old communications radio.

"Hey," she called softly, "There's a light switch here. Should I turn it on?"

Chris considered. "We, I don't think anyone else is on this island, or we'd have been found by now. Judging by that door, this place isn't used that often. So. Let's shine some light on the problem, shall we?"

Claire dutifully turned the switch. Flourescent lights flickered into life overhead, their sudden clinical brightness hurting the Redfield's eyes. Despite Chris's assertion that the place must be more-or-less deserted, the desks looked tidy and well-used. It seemed just like any other office.

Chris came to stand behind her shoulder, attaching her torch back on his belt rather absently as he contemplated the desks. He looked toward the window and ran a finger over the glass. He checked his fingertip and then shrugged. "Window's are only dirty on the outside. Guess this place is used more often than we thought. That would explain why it didn't smell so dusty in here." He moved over to a desk, flicking through the pile of neatly stacked paper on top.

Claire remained looking at the window he'd touched, then turned to look at the door. She panned her view around the entire inside of the building. It appeared to be all one room. She frowned slightly, shaking her head.

'What is it?" asked Chris.

"It's nothing.

"Nothing's nothing," he replied cryptically, "So what is it?"

"Well," Claire began, feeling foolish, "this place doesn't make sense. Although, now that I say it aloud, I think it's beginning to make more sense, but it doesn't make proper sense."

Chris gave her a long-suffering look. "Well. I'm delighted for you. Truly. But you're confusing me, so, could you just say it, whatever it is? Please?"

"Uh, okay. But, uh, humour me. When you looked through the window oustide, you saw... what?"

He gestured to the room, shrugging. "Desk, chair, office-y stuff."

This time, it was Claire's turn to give a long-suffering look. "Come on, Chris. Think. Throw me a bone here."

"Okay, okay." Chris closed his eyes and tried to recapture the scene. "There was... a desk. I didn't see anything on it, though. And... a pot plant, on top of a filing cabinet. No chair, at least as far as I could tell... Something in the corner, though, and... a poster..."

"What was on it?" Claire prompted.

"Something... red..." He opened one eye to look at her, eyebrow raised. "So, how did I do?"

Claire gestured around them, "You tell me."

Chris followed her advice, looking at the room once more. There was no potplant, and no posters, if you excluded the wall-planner between two work stations. He turned his head sharply to look at her, smiling. "Point well made, little sister."

She inclined her head. "Thank you. But the reason I even began to think about how the dimensions seemed wrong was because this place is obviously well used, but the door is still as old as... well, as old as..."

"Elton John?" Chris suggested.

"Well, old anyway. So, I thought, there had to be another way in, a way that was used all the time."

Chris' proud smile grew. "I knew it was a good idea to bring you with me. You can be my sidekick."

Claire made a face. "Don't crack out the champagne just yet, though. I have no idea how to get into this "hidden room"."

"Umbrella does like their obscure secret entrances," he agreed.

As one entity, they moved towards the wall they had suspected had a room on the other side, and began a thorough and systematic examination of every inch of it.

Chris paused in checking the wall. He turned slightly towards her. "I have a theory. Can I run it by you?"

Claire shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay, the town. Small, out of the way. Dying, 'cos no one needs to travel through it anymore. But rich, somehow. Just like Raccoon City. Nearly everyone in a position of power – from business owners to the chief of police – are bought off, paid not to notice anything strange. That's how the town keeps running. The counterfeiting, yeah?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah."

"Exact same thing must've been happening in Raccoon. It's a miracle it took so long to figure out. I mean, some of the businesses that were up and running hadn't seen any new customers for years."

She nodded again. "Could be. I mean, you hadn't been there very long. Maybe as soon as someone who lived in Raccoon City got interested in the mansion, they had two choices; take the bribe and keep quiet, or end up a zombie by morning. But then too many people found out at once about the 'murders' so they had to... take steps..."

"This place is the new Raccoon City. The investors we're trying to scare off... must be in charge of the counterfeiting. Taking the fake money to places where they can leak it, letting Umbrella use the real stuff to pay the townspeople. Can't have a government investigation about it here. They'd find Umbrella hidden. In return, the counterfeiters get all the chemicals and stuff they need."

"Makes sense."

"Perfect location. Middle of nowhere. St. Augstine's. No one will have even heard of it. Main attraction is the church. But there's no isolated mansion here, right? Nowhere you can hide the entrance to a base. Nowhere you can hide the construction of one. Except, there is this convenient little island. Why not make that the entrance? Few people are going to stumble across it there. Trouble is, you can't hide construction workers and their materials if they have to use boats to get over all the time. You can pay the townsfolk to look the other way, but you don't want them to know too much. So. You make a tunnel, right? From your mainland base to here."

"Then no one can see the scientists and builders came across the island. That'd be the first thing they'd make, I guess."

'Yeah. But they need a place to come up at. A place no one's gonna look, should some bored tourist or kids be running around. So they choose this old warden's hut. See these papers? Building quotes. Progress reports. The tunnel's been built, and now they're making the damn labs underneath us. This building isn't only a hiding place though, it's also a place for builders and architects to collaborate. My guess is in another couple of months this building won't be here. No one would ever know that there really is a fucking hell under their very feet.

"And, of course, Umbrella would have to know that a building on the island would make people curious. So they didn't pretty it up. Left it old, dusty. The builder's will probably have some sort of cover story, and if some kid came looking for trouble all they'd see would be a decreipit shack. The real entrance to the underground labs is hidden inside a hidden room?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"Then why aren't there security guys running around? Survellience?"

"My guess is that after we get into this hidden room, we'll be on tape. The security will be at the mainland base now, looking for us. Thinking we're in our bolt-hole with those ghastly pink-starred curtains. Just a few back up guys round the island, I guess. Must've been lucky and got past them. Or maybe they're waiting for backup. We'll just have enough time to reach the files, nick 'em, and get the hell out."

Claire let out a shaky breath.

_Sounds like fun times are ahead._

"We gotta get those files," she said breathily. "We'll just have to be damn quick. Hope we can find the way in to the room, eh?"

"Already got it.

"Where? What is it?"

"A finger-pull behind the wallplanner. The join of the door and wall is hidden by the two filing cabinets on either side." He sounded vaguely disappointed.

"Well, that's not imaginative," Claire said in mock disgust.

"I know. I feel guilty just standing next to it." Chris hooked his finger through the small metal ring. He looked at her, completely serious. "You sure you wanna do this? With the information on counterfeiting and some of the viral reports we have, there's more than enough information to warren a full-scale investigation. We don't have to go in, and hope we're faster than security."

Claire shrugged. "If we don't, the main guys will just go to ground again, right?"

"Might be that the counterfeiting catches them."

She considered half-heartedly. She couldn't imagine meeting up with the rest of the Raccoon City survivors and telling them, "_Yeah, we had the opportunity to find out everyone who was involved in the creation of the new Umbrella. But then, we didn't want to risk getting hurt. So we came back_."

"We need to get everyone," she decided, "Every snivelling little lab rat who started experimenting on people because their daddy didn't love them enough. Otherwise Umbrella or something like it will just sprout up again. Every single part of it needs to be taken down."

Any other brother would have asked if she was sure. Would've explained that she didn't have to be macho. But Chris was different. For one, he planned to go down anyway. For another, he didn't particularly want to leave his sister alone and 'vulnerable'. And lastly, he thought that by now Claire was mature enough to know her own mind.

He nodded to her, and readied himself. He twisted the small metal ring clockwise, and pulled open the hidden door

* * *

**_AUTHOR COMMENTARY_**: _no, this isn't what Chris is feeling guilty about. In fact, what Chris _is _feeling guilty about has gone under many, many revisions. I'm not yet sure which one I'm going to go for... it depends on what I do with Claire's hallucinations, and they're so much fun to do that I haven't quite decided upon what one to follow. Like I said before, Wesker wasn't going to appear but having "doped" Wesker, as I affectionately refer to him, is far too much fun to be a one-off, so he might appear in the future too... Actually ues... ahahaha  
_

_The island mentioned does exist. Its name is Quail Island, and it is horrible to be in at night, redeemed only by that fact that when you wake in the morning the sea is right there for an early morning freeze-your-bollocks-off swim. It was originally used as a quarantine area for people suffering leprosy, and there is a small ramshackle cemetry that is simply mounds of earth and twisting bramble enclosed in a picket-square  
_

_also, just to repeat what I said at the top, this isn't showing up on the resident evil page for me, despite the fact that the story manager says that's where it is. Can anyone else see it? If not, can you notify? I did before, but they still haven't done anything about it... that makes me a sad panda._

_Sorry this took so long to update... I have been housesitting with no internet connection! Ahh! And thanks to everyone who reviewed or PMed me _

_FEED THE PLOT BUNNIES, BELOW!_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Phew! I've just survived my uni finals! So now I can get this story finished – yay! Sorry it took so long to get an update out. Anyway, if there's still anyone to read (You know I don't deserve you) – enjoy!**_

The door opened smoothly, creating a burst of air that rustled Claire's ha

* * *

ir. It revealed the small oblong room Chris had seen when he had peeked hesitantly through the window, less than quarter of an hour earlier. He favoured the pane of glass with a wry smile as Claire came up behind him, smoothing her ruffled hair behind her ears.

"It's a sign-in room," she observed, glancing around.

There was little in the room, just the desk and filing cabinet Chris had described, with a shift-card marker in the corner. Chris fumbled to the side of the door to find the light switch, finally finding it and bathing the hidden place with bright flouresence. With better visibility, Claire could see the desk was clear except for a plastic container of pens and a yellow, hardcover book that proclaimed COMMUNICATION LOG.

Chris nodded, pulling out the top shelf of the cabinet and thumbing through the content. "Yep. And this history of shift-cards confirm the place is used regularly."

"So then. The entrance has to be here somewhere, right?"

She walked over to the desk and pulled out a drawer. It rattled, full as it was of pens and other mundane office supplies that were loose at the bottom. She pushed it back and opened the other drawer. It had fresh shift-cards in it and some scraps of paper, but nothing that looked important.

"Maybe there's something in the communication book?" she suggested, reaching over to flip through a couple of pages. She scanned over the handwritten notes quickly, finding only minor complaints and job-related reminders.

Chris ignored her, still rifling through the cabinet's drawers as if he expected to find something. He pulled at the third drawer, which was at chest height. It rasped protestingly, seeming to be stuck on one side. He stopped to wipe his hands on the outside of his thighs and peered into the small gap he had opened. With his eyes fixed on it, he reached to his survival belt and detached a metal object that looked suspiciously like a small version of a workman's file.

Claire was crouching under the desk, running her hand over the floor in the space where the chair would go and wondering if it could be a trapdoor, when there was a loud, echoing clang. She stood and turned quickly, nearly cracking her head against the edge of the deskstop.

Her brother stood with one hand on the front of the five lower drawers of the filing cabinet, which were swung out like a door. He grinned, pocketing the small tool. "Nancy Drew, eat your heart out!"

Claire darted over to look at what the door, fashioned to look like drawers, had been hiding. The top rungs of a dark steel ladder gleamed, fastened to the wall through the back of the cabinet. Sighing, she looked at Chris, eyebrows raised.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, eyebrows also raised up high. "These people are either so unimaginative it hurts, or so imaginative they should be defense lawyers."

He turned away, missing her giggle, and ducked so he could lean over the hole the ladder descended into. After a few seconds of twisting his head this way and that, he withdrew, and gestured to the depths with a boyish smile.

"Ladies first."

"How generous," snorted Claire, and she reached for the top rungs.

The ladder's hole was gloomy, lit only by whatever light could make it down from the sign-in room. _At least its grippy,_ Claire thought, but she couldn't calm her nerves when she realised she couldn't see the bottom, and had no idea where she was going to end up. Were there soldiers down there, waiting for her?

Carefully, she lowered herself down, finding the next rung a comfortable distance from the first. She twisted her neck, trying to see where she was going.

_Slowly does it..._

She had just been getting used to the stride she could use, and was picking up speed when the light shut off abruptly. Coated in darkness, she gripped the ladder tightly, eyes shut as she tried to block out images of plunging through the darkness to the bottom of the shaft, wherever that may be.

Heavy footfalls sounded on the wooden floor above, sending small plumes of dust through the floorboards. "Chris?" she questioned, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Yeah." She heard him seize the ladder somewhere above her. "Sorry, I should've given you the head's up - didn't want to waste electricity."

"Yeah, that would be tragic," she muttered sarcastically, craning her head to try to see him through the dark.

"My thoughts precisely. Woo, it's dark down here. Hold tight." There was rummaging overhead, and although Claire was one hundred percent certain she was looking directly at her brother she couldn't pick up any signs of movement in the gloom. Then, suddenly, a strong light shone directly into her face, turning the world bright white.

She swore reflexively, and twisted her face away, eyes clamped shut.

"Sorry, Claire. Right." There were more sounds of movement as Chris twisted himself into a better position. "Okay. I'll hold the torch while you climb down."

Claire looked at the space straight in front of her and tried to blink away the afterimages. With her eyes still watering, she began to lower herself again, careful not to look down in case she saw something she didn't like - like a curious guard with a firearm gazing up at them, and them with nowhere to hide or run...

_Rat in a fucking hole. Chris should've gone _first, she thought a little angrily._ At least he's got some muscle. What could I do in an ambush? Probably scream and get hit a lot. I'd be a natural at that._

The ground met her sooner than she had expected, and finding it dissolved her misgivings. She twisted her own torch on and shone it about.

The ladder lead into a corridor. The walls, floor and ceiling seemed to be made of some type of steel plating. Bar lights ran down the length of the hallway, set into the roof. There was a plastic switch set into the wall not far from the ladder.

_Better to leave the lights off_, she decided. _At least this place seems to be deserted._

"What do you see?" asked Chris, urgently.

"I think we found the labs," she called back. "Doesn't seem to be anyone about."

"Just as expected," he sighed, and began to move.

She held the torch steady for him as he descended.

"Thanks," he said when he reached the bottom. "Shall we?"

Their boots clacked and squeaked in unison on the unforgiving floor, and Claire cringed at every sound they made. She snuck a glance at Chris. He looked perfectly calm, his eyes trained ahead and alert for any potential danger. He always made her feel inept and childish when they were on missions together – no matter how calm and collected she could be by herself or with someone else, if Chris was there she clung to him for reassurance and protection, becoming easily flustered and jumping at the most innocent of noises. She guessed it was because she felt she had to prove herself to him, the younger sister wanting to show the older brother that she was as tough and brave as him.

The sterile corridor branched into two only a few paces down. Chris shone his torch the right and then to the left. From the left came a fragrance of dirt, cut wood and new paint, although it looked identical to the right branch.

"The scent of construction?" Claire suggested.

In contrast, the right arm smelled of a place that was frequently used and just as frequently sterilized. There was a vaguely damp smell as well, perhaps of freshly cleaned carpet.

"Probably the labs and offices this way," said Chris. He took a couple of strides down the right corridor until he realised he wasn't being followed. He stopped and looked at his sister, who was standing hesitantly in the intersection.

"I know there aren't any guards around but... do... you think Umbrela knows we're here?"

"I'd count on it," he replied voice hash. "There's probably some fat, middle-aged bastard reporting our every move, watching through security cameras as he stuffs his face with chips."

"Should we turn the torches off?"

"No. They're bound to have infra-red lenses. As we'll be watched either way, we may as well see where we're going."

Claire shuddered, but still didn't move. Memories of her brief time in Rockfort's grimy prison resurfaced in her mind, along with the bloody guillotine and other "playthings" that had awaited hapless prisoners. Chris stepped back to her and gripped her shoulder bracingly.

"We're not going to get caught," he said reassuringly. "Not as long as we're quick. Security's still on alert back at the mainland. There's not going to be anyone here."

"How can you be so sure?"

It was difficult to tell by the torch light, but Claire thought her brother looked a little shifty. "I just know." He nodded affirmatively, as if that made what he was saying more logical. "Come on, we have to be quick, or they'll catch up with us."

She looked at him doubtfully, but she knew that staying frozen in Umbrella's underground labs was a sure-fire way to get caught and killed. Her knuckles turned white around her torch and she began to walk down the corridor, following Chris.

The corridor branched several more times, but Chris said they should keep together so they wouldn't become separated or lost and Claire didn't argue. Although she felt the pressure of the clock, she appreciated her brother's reasoning more with every twist and turn-off they passed. The underground passageways were more complicated the most fiendish labyrinth. It would be so easy to get lost in here. They stayed in the widest corridor until they reached its end, in the form of a large, silver elevator that required an ID card and pin.

Claire placed a hand against the join of the lift doors. "Where do you reckon that leads to?"

"Maybe to the tunnel that leads to the mainland. It doesn't look like we'll be finding out any time soon, though. Come on, let's search through the rooms."

Mainly there was nothing. The doors were all locked, but most of them - the work office doors, not the ones leading to laboratories, - soon fell to the trusty lock-pick Claire had kept from Antarctica. They trawled through every room they could open, but it soon become apparent that, unfortunately, this reincarnation of the company did not leave ID cards and access codes lying around like confetti. The big metallic laboratory doors which must lead to valuable information and specimens were likely to remain locked for the rest of the evening.

Claire confided this much to Chris.

He grinned, and pulled out a small black square of metal from another compartment of his belt. "Electronic lock-pick. Got it from Leon. It's handy having government connections sometimes, even if the president does use them to make sure we're keeping obedient." To Claire's bemusement, he scowled meditatively before continuing, "but in any case, this can get us into the labs if we need it. Takes a while to crack them, though - "

"Let's not use it, then," she said firmly.

Chris was reluctant to agree, eager as he was to try out his new toy. In the end, however, he admitted that to get the personnel files they shouldn't have to enter the protected labs, just find the office of the resident workplace psychiatrist. The computer in that room would contain access to all the files they needed, assuming they could bypass the password.

"Assuming?" Claire put her hands on her hips.

"I'm pretty sure that I can crack it."

"This whole endeavour below ground smells of 'pretty sure'."

"Come on, Claire. Let's just keep moving. If we can't get into the computer, we'll decide what to do next then."

As it was, after picking the locks of a few more doors, they found the psychiatrist's office. It was the same as all the other workspaces they had entered, small and neat with a grey-blue carpet and white walls – although an original touch showed through in the painting of the sky hanging opposite the desk. The desk itself looked like it was made from a kit-set and had been hurriedly chosen for the room. A black swivel chair was behind it, orientated towards the door as if the person who had been sitting it had left in a hurry. Further supporting this impression was a half drunk cup of coffee and the laptop, open, with the screen glowing on stand-by.

Chris looked at the name tag on the desk and gave an audible sigh of relief. "Alex Rudik," he read. "This is him."

"Or her," Claire pointed out, "It's not necessarily a guy."

He gave her a blank look before sitting in the office chair and tapping a few keys, bringing the laptop to life. While his fingers clacked on the keyboard, Claire stood in the door way and listened carefully for the sounds of anyone approaching. It felt like they had been in the underground maze for at least an hour, but time was impossible to guess. _How long would it take a team to get here, anyway? _She shivered, and tried to think of other things.

_Come on, Claire. Why so jumpy? This is a cake-walk compared to some of the other things you've done._

The air smelled less like bleach in here. Claire assumed that the other offices, which had been nestled amongst the laboratories, belonged to the scientists who worked the experiments in the neighbouring rooms. The ones on this side, where there were no labs, were most likely the offices of people who had a more managerial role in the company. _Not very wise,_ she thought, _having the management down the hall from labs, where so many things can go wrong. Maybe that's something that's going to change when the rest of the underground is built. _Perhaps there were no dangerous specimens in the facility at the moment – the poor bandersnatchers and hunters might be having to wait until a strong, suitable habitat was constructed on the lower levels.

_I wonder if Steve is here... or coming here... if he's still alive._

"Got it!"

Claire was snapped out of her moody contemplation by Chris' jubilant voice. She abandoned her post in the doorway and stood behind the chair, leaning over his shoulder. Microsoft Windows played its welcoming tune as a desktop of a waterfall appeared on the screen.

"How'd you do that?"

Chris smiled. "A magician doesn't give away his secrets."

"Chris."

She wasn't smiling, but Chris didn't seem to notice. He was too intent on locating the personnel files he needed, trawling through the computer's database, clicking on particular links and files as if he knew where to find them.

"Ah," he said after a few moments, "Got 'em. Hang on now, I'll just copy them over and send them out."

"Okay." Impressed by his speed, Claire touched the back of his head briefly before moving away, heading back to the doorway. "Good work."

"I'm going to copy the whole hard-drive to my portable one," he said, ignoring the praise and pulling out yet another device from his seemingly limitless belt, "and send the most important files to Barry, Leon and Jill so we know they've got them. There might be something useful in the computer, but we don't have time to explore through everything now."

"Fair enough," she agreed, only half-listening and lounging against the door frame.

Chris's expression was intent as he worked at the laptop computer. His eyebrows were closer together than usual in a scowl of concentration, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. His eyes moved rapidly over the screen, continuously scanning. As Claire watched, he read something, stopped in surprise, and then re-read it. He cocked his head back, still looking at the screen, and then looked at her.

"Claire, there's something in these labs that I think we should get," he said frankly. He twisted the laptop around so the screen was facing her. She approached slowly, giving her brother an evaluating glance. "It's a gas that is referred to here by the name _'Serenity'. _It was created as a by product when they were trying to mix the Los Plagas from Spain and Alexia's T Veronica – it seems they were opting to combine the two in the hopes of getting strength, intelligence, and obedience. In any case, what they got was this gas."

"What's so special about this gas?" asked Claire cautiously, peering at the writing on the screen.

"It affects the way people act in a unique way. The main active component of the gas seems to be this new chemical that hadn't been seen before. I'm not sure the of the bio-chemical logic, or whatever, but this chemical acts on the parts of the brain that make us argumentative and aggressive, limiting their output. The gas relaxes the patient by working directly on specific structures in the brain."

"It sounds fascinating, but why do we need to get it?"

He stared at her as if she were stupid. "Don't you see, Claire? If we let them keep it, then they can unleash this open the cities any time something starts to go wrong. Say some one in this town begins to wonder if what the big company is doing is legal or ethical, stumbles across some poor mutant, and then goes back to his friends with the news. The whole town would no by the end of the night, and then the people would go to the government and... to stop them, all Umbrella would have to do was to release the gas. The people who had known what was going on would be to calm to know or care what was going on. The psychiatrist was studying its effects. No one is unaffected by this drug. Umbrella could blackmail the entire world. Workers are going to go on strike? Here, have some of this gas. Bam, suddenly the workers are calm and forget all about their money woes. If we leave them with this, we're letting them win."

His face was full of purpose and his voice was earnest, but Claire looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Under that calculating stare, Chris suddenly felt cold and very small. He stared back at her, confused, and wondering how she couldn't understand the importance of the gas.

"Don't you see, Claire?" he repeated, in a whisper that was almost pleading. "We can't let them have it."

"You _knew,_" she said suddenly. She crossed her arms and intensified her glare. "You knew that this gas was here. You've been acting weird all night. This wasn't about getting files or anything, not really. This was about getting this gas. Wasn't it?"

He looked down. "Yeah. It was."

"How did you know it was here?"

Although he kept his face averted, Claire got the distinct impression that Chris was doing some pretty quick thinking. He looked back up at her after a brief, tense pause, eyes dulled. "The contact, 'Preacher' - he didn't talk to me directly before we got here. Leon came to me, said that there was a gas the government needed and that they had a guy on the inside. He gave me the electronic lock-pick and told me I would need it to be able to get to the room where the gas was stored. I agreed."

She leaned her head to the side, her blue eyes shimmering. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly. "Why..."

"I didn't know if you'd want to help the president out," he said, "not after how they treated us after Raccoon City and Antarctica and all. And I took the opportunity to get sure-fire proof that would make the government close this place down. I... I should've told you, Claire. My excuses seem weak now. I'm sorry."

She was still looking at him, mollified but hesitant. "There's nothing else you need to tell me?"

"No," he said earnestly, looking her directly in the eye.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Swallowing hard, Claire shrugged in a confused manner. "Well, okay then. I guess we better get this gas. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes. Lab 23 slash 4."

"two-three-four?"

"That's it."

"Okay." Her face was twisted in a strange way. As she had gazed into her brother's familiar face, she had felt that there was something else – maybe she was paranoid, though. He might have been acting weird all night, but so had she; this place made you skittish, she supposed. At least there hadn't been any real trouble. _Yet. Get the sample and get out quick before Umbrella catches up with us. _"Let's go get this damn gas, then."

* * *

_**Author Note:** _

_(1) I had the idea for this story bumping around in the recesses of my brain before I saw the movie _"Serenity", _a continuation of the television series _"Firefly" _(one of my favourites). It changed one of my ideas and strengthened my liking of the others. Although this is not a cross over in the strict sense (after all, the story started out without me having seen either Firefly or Serenity) the gas is named in honour of the movie and pilot episode, without which the plot would have taken a drastically different turn._

_(2) Has anyone noticed that Chris and Claire have both been acting a little weird in these flash-back episodes? The answer for Claire is mentioned in passing in the next chapter. Chris' reason will be explained in detail in a few more._

_(3) I was doing something similar to Claire (climbing out of the attic actually – ours is ladder-access) when the light was suddenly turned off. Because I had to jump to the step ladder, I was really pissed off. I felt like adding it to this chapter (shrug, why not?) It sucks when people do that. _

_Thanks for reading. Please leave a review_


	12. Chapter 12

Lab 23/4 was nearly the furthest one away from the ladder, Claire noticed with some degree of unease. At least, she reasoned, there were so many corridors that they should be able to loose anyone trying to follow them. She stood, arms folded and alert, as Chris knelt in front of the door.

He pulled the front panel off the keypad and wired the electronic lock-pick in carefully. He flicked a switch and then watched nervously as numbers spun in the keypad's display screen, one number stopping its rotation every time the black box gave a soft, low beep.

"How long is this going to take?" Claire hissed, unfolding one arm to shine her torch down the corridors. "Security isn't just going to wait for us to leave."

"Shouldn't be long now," he murmured. "Just give it a few minutes."

It wasn't long before the last digit ticked into place. The box gave a satisfied trill, and Chris deftly detached it from the keypad, with noticeably less care than he had attached it. He replaced the front of the pad as the lock released with an audible click and the door slid back into the wall.

Claire stepped in first.

The laboratory was neat and clean, and smelled strongly of industrial bleach. The walls were lined with navel-high benches that were interrupted by cabinets and a large sink. In the centre of the room was a large tank that Claire guessed was used to study the gas in some way. There was a strange smell to the tank, even over the stink of bleach. Sweet. She sniffed, and felt soothed. There was nothing to be frightened of here.

"Can you smell that?" she asked Chris eagerly.

He sniffed the air and scowled. "It smells sickly, right? Over-sweet, like wasp-rotten fruit. Quick, let's find the sample and go."

Claire smiled at Chris' bad mood, and moved over to one of the cabinets. She opened the door - no luck, just clean lab coats and surgical masks, along with a box of disposable gloves. She left the door open and moved towards the next one, the silly smile still in place.

"That smell," said Chris presently, watching her. "I think it's the gas. It's making you act all doped. Hell, even smells like Mary Jane."

"How do you know what marijuana smells like?" she teased.

"I was a cop. Some of the guys they brought into the precinct reeked of it."

"Sure. And before you were a cop, you were an angry young man with a - "

He coughed. "Can we just find the gas and leave? Try not to breathe too heavily, okay?"

"My brother is a drug addict," she announced happily, determined to have the last word. She opened another cupboard. More supplies.

"Whatever you say," he muttered.

Chris found the samples first, hidden in a glass fridge beneath one of the benches and beside a half-bottle of 'Powerade'. There was a combination lock on the door, just like the old safes in movies and cartoons. He looked at it and swore.

"Did expect it to be locked."

"Why not?" asked Claire in surprise. "They usually are."

"I... I guess I just wasn't thinking."

"We could break the glass? It might not hurt the samples. The powerade might save them."

Chris considered. "Well, it's not like we have many other options. Let's try."

Strangely enough, it worked, and by doing so reinforced Claire's belief that locking glass doors was a complete waste of time. She stated this in a loud, dopey voice, but Chris didn't comment, too busy picking through the shards of glass to find the gas they needed.

"Five. There are five samples."

"Well, there had to be more than one," Claire pointed out. "It would be pretty useless otherwise. You wouldn't be able to test it or anything without loosing it."

"Yeah. True." He took them out gently, lying them on the ground. He went to Claire's first store cupboard and ripped the arm off a lab coat. He gingerly wrapped the tubes up in it, and placed the package into a front pocket of his belt. "God, I hope I don't trip and break them."

"You'll be fine, as long as you chuck your hands forward when you fall," reassured Claire. The doped affect of the drug appeared to be wearing off, for she continued, "Come on, Chris. We've got what we came for. Time to leave."

"Amen to that." He stood carefully. "Right. Let's go slow, see if we've got company yet. Rough seas should have kept them back for a while, but they might have come through the undersea passage."

Claire paled. _Didn't think of that. Jeesh, Chris has been taking a hell of a lot of risks lately._

After turning off their torches, Chris peeked his head around the corner, then waved for her to follow. They left lab 23/4 open and walked away slowly and quietly, trying to stop their heavy boots from squeaking on the polished floor.

They were so close to the ladder when they heard it, the pneumatic whoosh of the silver elevator. All thoughts of reaching safety melted away like a mirage. Chris grabbed Claire's arm, pulling her to the wall. She could see only the faintest outline of his face as he mouthed "this way" - or perhaps it was only her imagination. His black shadow pulled at her arm, and the siblings retreated down the side corridor. They ducked around another corner as what sounded like a squad of small elephants trucked by.

"Sounds like there are at least twelve of them," Chris whispered.

"Some seem to be staying in front of the ladder."

"Shit."

"Affirmative," Claire whispered, and then giggled. Maybe the gas hadn't quite worn off yet.

"We're gonna have to run for it. Hold onto my belt. Stay close." She gripped her brother's belt in tense fingers, shaking hands drumming a nervous tattoo into the small of his back. Suddenly the situation didn't seem so funny. "Don't bother trying to have a weapon ready, it'll just slow you down."

She nodded, though he couldn't see, and took a deep breath. "One," she breathed out, "two... three..."

Then, they ran.

Their feet pounded into the ground. Shadowy corridors flew past. Claire experienced a strange lack of balancing running in the dark, but couldn't slow down to find her bearings. She resisted the instinct to resist further movement, and forced herself to keep going. Her fingers were raw from gripping the belt so tight, but none of that mattered. The only thing was running.

Chris bowled straight into one man, and Claire trampled over him in her heavy boots without realizing until afterwards. He didn't get up.

Then, around the corner - there was the ladder. Chris had led them a way that had avoided all bar one of the security guards. He stopped, pulled Claire in front of him as soon as she disentangled her hand from his belt, and pushed her up the ladder. The metal rungs were cold and rough to her abused fingers, but as she reached up for the next hold, she turned her head to see the light of gun-scopes flickering down the corridor. They seemed very close. She became very aware of how vulnerable she was, and her brother standing below - waiting for her to move so he could climb up as well. Suddenly her hands felt numb.

Energized, she scurried up hand-over-hand, praying that nothing would make her slip or slow down. Finally, the gray square of light that had been so distant was level with her. Claire threw herself into the sign out room, trying desperately to remember where the door was. She pulled out her torch, preparing to flick it on and look when -

_The door to this building, rusty and stiff. Chris pushing at it with his shoulder, taking forever to move it the slightest difference._

_Did he leave it open?  
_

_Lights turned off to make sure no one passing by would know we had been here. Did he close it for the same reason?_

_If it's closed, we're dead. Dead, finito, decomposing, corpsified._

_Unless..._

Claire knew instantly that she didn't have time to check if the door was open or not. Any second now, Chris would be out and the soldiers would follow. They wouldn't wait to see what she would decide to do. She gripped the mag light in her hands, remembering a TV commercial where a truck had run over one of these torches, and the torch didn't break. She thought a brief, wordless prayer, and threw it with all her might at the window in front of her.

It cracked with a loud smack, but didn't break.

Her mind spared a split-second to swear at consumer advertising and threaten to sue. The window must be reinforced. She caught the torch on the full, moving towards the glass at a rampaging pace. She planted her foot firmly into the apex of the spidery lines.

_Eat plan B._

Her leg jarred painfully as it met the unforgiving window pane, sending a shower of glass onto the ground outside and a primal screech peeling from her throat. Momentum propelled her inelegantly through the gap, picking up stray shards as she went. She landed heavily, causing errant glass to burrow into her skin.

Chris followed, much more gracefully. Claire tried to stand, but her right leg hung limp and useless from her waist. She quelled a whimper as pain shot through the wrecked nerves, and reached a shaking hand towards her brother.

_Help me._

He saw that gesture, somehow, in the erratic glow of the swinging lantern. He didn't pause, not even to throw a glance to the soldiers who were flowing out of the faux-cabinet with heart-sinking efficiency. He grabbed her thin wrist and forcefully hoisted her up onto his back, grunting as he rearranged her weight more evenly over his shoulders, and began to run as fast as he could.

In a pain-induced haze, Claire saw the black Umbrella guards switching off their gun lights, and pulling on nigh-vision goggles. The eerie green of these goggles could be seen turning in all directions, hunting them out like a sniffer-dog's nose.

Some shots were fired, but they went off wide. Chris dived deeper into the trees, breathing becoming more laboured as the hill's incline became steeper. Claire bounced about on his back, feeling weak and useless. She couldn't even turn to find out how far away their pursuers were in case the movement made Chris lose his balance. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, turning white with tension.

They continued like this through the forest for what felt like hours before Chris stopped his frantic pace. He dropped his sister ungainly on the ground and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. She felt guilty at the sound of those pained gasps, and looked away to scope out the area in an attempt to stop a looming wave of self-loathing,

_What? We're in a god damn graveyard!_

Thorny weeds knotted over the ground, raised in humps where the bodies of the lepers had been unceremoniously dumped. A picket fence stood out in the darkness, green with moss and rot, cordoning off the desolate square from the rest of the woods. It was breached in some places by thick roots and heavy branches which had fallen during winter snows. The large tree Chris was leaning against was a yew, and its branches sheltered the little cemetery as if trying to protect the graves from any further humiliation.

Claire shrunk from the mounds of earth, half expecting a mottled, rotting hand to launch from the soil and reach with gnarled fingernails for her throat. Had an enterprising corpse attempted such a venture, he would not have got far before the straggling gorse and matagouri ensnared him with their cruel thorns, but this rationalized view hardly calmed the young woman.

She rubbed a hand over her sore leg, pulling out the bits of glass as she did so. None had hit deep, but the mangled nerves screeched their disapproval. She might be able to walk on it now, she thought, or perhaps limp. She glanced over to her brother, to see if he was ready to move on. Instead, her eye was caught by the sheer enormity of the bush Chris had battered through. She could hear some faint muttering from that direction which indicated they weren't on the small island alone, but the guards didn't come near the graveyard. Perhaps they were superstitious, but more likely they didn't think anyone could get through the mess of weeds with all body parts intact.

There was an unexpected "thump" behind her as Chris fell solidly to the base of the tree. Claire took a closer look at him, stretching her leg and creeping gingerly over the gorse. She could see his clothing was shredded and coated in blood which gleamed darkly in the pale light of the moon. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was still erratic.

He seemed to feel her scrutiny and opened his eyes to meet hers. He smiled softly, looking in the moonlight more like their father than ever before. "Sorry, Claire. I don't think I can get much further at the moment. Wild bullet clipped my leg."

She brushed the apology aside, guilt spreading through her like a stain. _If only I had been able to run, we'd have been too fast for them._

"Are you okay?" she whispered. "Is it serious?"

He shook his head. "It's just feeling weak and bleeding lots." A grim smile in the dark. "We're sore leg buddies now."

She smiled humourlessly. "Mine's getting better."

"We won't be buddies for long, then."

Claire scooted closer to her brother's side. "Where'd the bullet get you? I've got some med stuff in my belt. It may help."

The bullet had glanced off Chris left outer thigh, a couple of inches about the knee. He rolled his trouser leg high enough with difficulty. It was a clean wound, but Claire smeared stinging disinfectant over it anyway. They didn't speak while she cleaned it or bandaged it tightly, so Claire could focus all her attention on fixing him up. After the bullet-wound was seen to, she dabbed some disinfectant on the deepest of the gorse's gouges, cringing guiltily each time Chris gasped in pain.

When she had finished, she tugged the material of Chris' pant leg down, wiped her hands on her trousers, and sat, staring at the ground.

_I fucked up and got him hurt. I got him shot._

"Hey," he brother said softly. She raised her head, looking at him with eyes made large by the darkness. "You did good, Claire-bear. You did good."

**Back in the Present Day**

Her legs were uncomfortably cramped, twisted as they were beneath her body, but Claire gazed at Chris with rapt attention as the sun climbed higher. The blooms that grew on or around the graves opened in an elegant dance, releasing a sweet fragrance to the air, but the young woman was oblivious to all but her brother's tale.

"Do you remember this?" he asked presently. "Is it jogging your memory?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. Her memories were blank except for vague impressions and feelings, but she couldn't tell if those were borne from listening to Chris and trying desperately to remember, or real recollections breaking through into consciousness. _I have no idea what's real any more. _Her hand coiled around the dark glasses hidden in her pocket, and she began tentatively, "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it, unsure what to say; _I've been hallucinating? Sleep walking? Going completely nutso? _Shrugging, she muttered "never mind."

"Come on, Claire. Say it. Who knows, it might be important."

Encouraged by the eagerness and kindness in his voice, Claire tightened her grip on the sunglasses and took a deep breath. Half-closing her eyes, she prepared to tell him about her dream. Instead, she blurted out, "Did we come across Wesker?"

Chris didn't reply. Relaxing her face from a reflexive cringe that had instantly followed the question, a surprised Claire cautiously opened her eyes, expecting her brother to laugh or go on a rampage. However, his face had faded to the colour of parchment. His eyebrows were strangely twisted, bunching in shock. He spoke through pale lips in a pressed voice so unlike his own; "How did you know that?"

"I don't," she said uncomfortably, "not really. But I..." She wondered if she should go ahead and talk about her dream and the aviators in her hand, but it seemed too daunting. "I keep... expecting him to appear."

He stared at her. "You can't know," he whispered, "He said - "

"He _was _here?" Claire's eyes held her disbelief. "But you said he was away on some mission! Ada, too."

"I thought he was!" Chris burst out angrily, standing up. "Do you think I would have got us both here if I knew he'd be waiting? I'm not fucking suicidal, Claire! I'd take damn better care of you than that!"

"But you didn't!" she screamed back, also standing. "You left me here to fend for myself, weak and confused, without even _telling _me that the homicidal maniac was running around!"

"I didn't want to!"

"Then why did you?!"

The target had been hit. The anger that had risen so quickly in both of them dissipated. A change came over Chris' face, making him look sad and old. He slumped against the brickwork and slowly slid down to the floor.

"It was me, wasn't it?" said Claire quietly. "He threatened you, with me."

"I didn't want to," he repeated, finding the strength to look her in the eyes.

"Didn't want to what?"

Their eyes drilled into each other. The siblings both tried to predict how the conversation would spin out.

"How did you know he was here?"

"What?" Claire felt frustration boil inside her. "Answer the damn question, Chris! What did Wesker want with you?"

He answered with an uncompromising glare.

"I'll tell you if you tell me?" she suggested, in a milder tone. She sat down. "But you have to tell me the truth first, Chris."


End file.
